Echoes of Falling Snow
by R2-M0
Summary: BOOK 1: Arendelle's young princesses were more than sisters, they were best friends. Then a terrible accident tore them apart, sending Elsa into hiding and leaving Anna with no idea why. Now, as the king and queen try to help their daughters, another face enters the picture. Will Anna's new friend be the bridge that brings them together or the wedge that drives them apart forever?
1. The Closing of the Door

"Elsa? Hey, Elsa!"

Anna had pursued her sister up three flights of stairs and from one end of the castle to the other. At first, it had seemed like fun – just another game of tag like they'd often play when the weather was too gloomy to go outside. But something wasn't right this time. Elsa's usual giddy laughter didn't come ringing back along the echoing corridors. There were no taunts of, "Can't catch me, slowpoke!" In fact, her big sister never even turned around once to look at her. She just pelted through the palace as fast as her legs could carry her.

Anna saw her sister's blonde braid whip around a corner ahead. "Elsa!" she called again as she skidded around the bend in the corridor. She stopped short, nearly losing her balance, as she tried to understand what she was seeing.

A short way down the hall, Elsa paused on the threshold of an unfamiliar doorway. For the first time since the chase began, she turned and looked back at her little sister. Their eyes met, and there was a look on the older girl's face that Anna had never seen there before. She opened her mouth to call out again. But Elsa had already slipped inside the mysterious room, closing the door behind her.

Anna stood in the middle of the hallway for a long moment, her lower lip trembling. She still didn't know what was going on. But whatever it was, she didn't like it. It scared her. She had just made up her mind to stalk over and pound on the door, to tell her sister that she wasn't playing fair and that she needed to come out and apologize, when she felt a hand settle on top of her head with just enough firmness to restrain her.

She turned and looked up at the plump face of Gerda, head of the palace's kitchen staff, and very nearly a second mother to the little princesses. Gerda wasn't looking back at Anna, however. Instead, she was gazing with an expression of deep concern at the door behind which her sister had just disappeared. "Leave her be, child," said the matronly woman, not unkindly. But the sadness in that normally cheerful voice only frightened Anna even more.

After a few silent seconds, the older woman finally did turn her eyes to her youngest charge. "Come along," she said, trying to sound a little more cheerful for Anna's sake, though without very much success. "I have a tray of freshly baked sweets just about ready to come out of the oven. I don't think anybody will notice if a couple go missing before dinner." When the freckled little girl still hesitated, Gerda added, "They're chocolate!"

Anna let Gerda take her by the hand and lead her back the way she had come a minute earlier. But as they rounded the corner, she couldn't keep from throwing a last look back over her shoulder at the strange doorway that had swallowed her sister.

When they reached the kitchen, Gerda lifted Anna up and perched her atop one of the tall wooden work stools that lined the counters. Then she bustled over to the big oven and extracted a heavily laden tray of delectably scented pastries. She carefully selected two that she knew to be Anna's particular favorites, placed them on a small plate, and brought them over to the still quiet little girl.

"Thank you," Anna said automatically, as she took the offering. She picked one up and lifted it to her mouth. But instead of devouring it with her usual gusto, she merely nibbled around the edges. Gerda sighed, and turned to remove the rest of the dainties from the cooking sheet.

"Do you know what I did to make Elsa so angry at me?" came a tiny voice from behind her back. Gerda squeezed her eyes closed, her heart aching at the quaver in a voice that normally knew neither sadness nor fear. "I've been trying to think what it could be, so I could tell her I was sorry and she'd forgive me and come back out and we could play again," Anna continued. "But I just can't figure out what it could have been. So I thought, maybe, you know..."

"I'm afraid I don't, child," Gerda replied. This was true enough. But she, along with several other members of the palace staff, had seen the king and the queen ride their horses out of the castle at full gallop two nights ago, their daughters cradled in the saddles before them. Hours had passed with no sign of their return, and it seemed they had told no one where they were bound or when they might return. The eastern sky was turning pale with predawn light before the watchers on the towers called down their report of the royal family returning on horseback along the road that led into the foothills of the distant mountains.

When the king and queen had passed through the gates into the courtyard and dismounted, the younger daughter lay sleeping in her mother's arms. But the older princess, like her parents, appeared not to have slept at all that night. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her fair skin was even paler than usual. Their highnesses spoke little, only giving orders for the care of their steeds and that they were not to be distributed for the rest of that day. Then they had retreated into their bedchambers.

They had not emerged again until late that afternoon. And if they had managed to get any sleep while they were sequestered behind their locked doors, it could not have been much, for their faces still appeared haggard and drawn. Then, the king began issuing orders, while the queen stood beside him – nervously wringing a kerchief she clutched tightly in her hands, and blinking a little too often to try to control the dampness that threatened to spill from her eyes.

Shock and disbelief ran through the castle as the word came down that most of the staff had been ordered to depart within the week. The king would, of course, provide letters of highest recommendation for all those departing. The few who remained were to seal the castle: shudder the windows, close the doors, bar the gates. It was as if the Grand Palace of Arendelle had abruptly come under siege. No explanation was given for these sudden changes. But no one, not even the most senior royal advisors, could bring themselves to question the king once they saw the haunted look in his eyes.

The final orders had come late last night. Elsa's bed and all her belongings were to be taken out of the room that she had shared with her sister and moved to a private bedroom on the other side of the castle. This was to be done while the royal family broke their fast in the dining hall the next morning. When Gerda had heard the news, her heart immediately went out to both of the princesses, but especially to Anna. The poor thing was so young, and she had barely spent more than a few hours away from her older sister her entire life. Gerda knew this might well break her heart.

So she had found every excuse she could to linger in the dining hall that morning, making a particular fuss of overseeing the clearing of the table once the family had finished their meal. And she had watched as the king had taken Elsa aside, knelt down in front of her so they were eye to eye, and began to speak to her in hushed tones. Gerda hadn't been able to hear the words, but she could guess what he was telling his daughter well enough. And she knew the princess well enough too. Knew that Elsa would be putting on a brave face for her father, because that was what was expected of her.

But as the king finished speaking, giving his daughter a smile and a tender squeeze on her shoulder, Gerda watched Elsa intently. As the princess turned and began to walk out of the room, the matron of the kitchens saw the poor girl's eyes sparkling with tears that would not be held back for much longer. And she saw the stricken look on the pale face when Anna called her sister's name and started running after her.

So Gerda had followed after the two girls as they had raced through the corridors of the palace, struggling to keep up with the rapid pace they were setting. She hadn't moved that fast in many a long year, but she had sworn to herself that she would be there to help pick up the pieces when...

"I guess I could try asking Mama." The sound of Anna's voice jolted Gerda's mind back from its reverie. She focused again on the small redheaded child. The chocolatey sweets both lay on the plate in her lap now, barely touched and completely forgotten. "If anyone would know, Mama would."

"Oh, Anna my love. I'm sure it's nothing," Gerda tried to reassure her. "Everyone has their bad days now and then, don't they? Elsa probably just needs some time by herself, and then I'm sure she'll be right as rain. I mean, we can't all be as sweet and charming as you are every single day." She tenderly chucked Anna under the chin, which finally earned her a small smile and the faintest hint of a giggle from the princess. "That's right. Now why don't you run along and play out in the gardens. It looks set to be a right beautiful day!"

"Okay." Anna clambered down from the stool and trotted towards the door. But just before she left, she turned and called back. "Please save a couple of the chocolate 'clairs for dessert, Gerda? They're one of Elsa's favorites. Maybe they'll help cheer her up!"

• • •

Elsa tried in desperation to control the silent sobs that wracked her body. Of course, she failed miserably. Failing felt like the only thing she could do anymore. She had tried to at least make it to her bed first. But she had even failed at that. She'd only gotten half way across the room when the weight of her world drove her to the floor.

And now she wept uncontrollably. She wept because this _wasn't_ her room. No, her room was much bigger. Her room was pink and airy and beautiful. It was full of light and warmth and happiness and life. Of course it was. How could it be otherwise?

Her room had Anna in it.

For as long as she could remember, Elsa's parents had urged her to conceal her... special talents. They had tried to explain to her that some people wouldn't understand them, and that people often feared what they didn't understand. As a little girl, this didn't make much sense to Elsa. There was so much that she didn't understand. But to her, that only meant that there was so much more that she could learn! Still, she had done her best to be a good girl and obey her parents' wishes.

But Elsa had never been able to hide anything from her younger sister, even from the moment Anna was born. She could still remember how, on that day, the king and queen had left their newborn girl alone in her crib for just a few minutes. Even on such a momentous occasion, there were still matters of state that had to be seen too, after all. And they really hadn't meant to be away for long. But the baby knew none of this, of course. And when she'd awoken to find herself all alone, she began to cry.

Now it just so happened that Elsa had been hiding right outside the door to the nursery. She'd been busy all day – trying again to be a good girl and keep out of everyone's way, whilst at the same time wanting to see everything. But there had been so many grownups running about the palace, she'd never really been able to get close. So naturally, now there wasn't an adult anywhere to be seen. What was she supposed to do?

After a moment's hesitation, she had made up her mind. Nervously, she'd hurried across the room and peeked over the edge of the cradle. She really had no idea how she could possibly help the infant. She just knew that she couldn't bear to listen to her cry without trying to do something. So imagine Elsa's surprise when, the instant her eyes met those of her newborn sister, the crying abruptly stopped.

"Hello, little baby," Elsa had breathed. "You're a princess, just like me. Bet you're thinking maybe it's a pretty cool thing to be."

Elsa adored poetry. It was a love she'd inherited from her mother. During those precious hours when the queen was able to set aside the duties of helping to rule Arendelle, one of her favorite pastimes was to retreat with Elsa to the palace library. There, she would lift her daughter onto her lap and read to her from one of the many books of verse that she had collected. Elsa, for her part, drank it in like water.

She and her mother had even turned their shared love into a sort of game. They'd frequently carry on entire conversations in rhyming couplets, usually to her father's amused consternation. Somehow, it came so naturally to Elsa that she often found herself slipping into the pattern without ever thinking about it. She didn't even realize that she was doing it now.

Suddenly, she stopped and threw an anxious look over her shoulder. Had she heard someone outside in the hallway? Would she get in trouble for being in here? It was always so difficult to keep track of all the rules that she was expected to follow – especially since it so often felt like she was never told half of them until after she'd unknowingly broken one.

"But soon you'll see that everyone expects a lot from you." She spoke almost to herself. "They say that there are things a princess should and shouldn't do."

She turned back and rested her chin on the crib's railing. Once again, she looked down at her baby sister. Absentmindedly, she twirled one hand gently through the air. A wisp of white formed at her fingertips, then rose upward and shaped itself into an oversized snowflake. It hung there, suspended in midair, spinning like a frozen mobile.

Elsa had started as a sound came from the crib. It was the first sound the baby had made since it had stopped crying, a coo of pure wonder. Little Anna's wide eyes were fixed unblinkingly on the snowflake, her tiny mouth open in a smile, her face absolutely alight with joy.

Her attention was so completely taken by her baby sister that Elsa neither heard nor saw her parents return and stop just outside the nursery door. They simply stared for a moment at the sight of the two little girls, who were so obviously enthralled by one another. Then the queen looked up at her husband, and he down at her. She slipped an arm around his waist, and he wrapped his across her shoulders and pulled her close beside him. She leaned her head against his strong chest. And they both watched, blissful smiles on their faces, as their daughters got to know each other for the first time.

From that moment forward, the sisters became nearly inseparable. As she grew, Anna followed Elsa everywhere. Elsa, for her part, made it her job to teach Anna everything she knew about life in the castle. They danced in the gardens. They ran through the hallways, giggling like mad. They played hide and seek with their nanny (although they often neglected to mention this fact to Nanny first.)

And on those exceedingly rare occasions when Anna's bright and sunny disposition flagged, whenever she was sad or depressed, a small flick of Elsa's hand and a tiny flurry was all it took to bring a smile back to her sister's face.

But now, Anna had almost died because of her. The one person with whom she had always been able to be completely herself, and Elsa had nearly killed her.

She felt like she was going to be sick. She curled into a ball, trying to hold it in. Trying to hold everything in. Trying to hold the world out...

She awoke in the middle of the night to find herself tucked under the covers of her bed, with no memory of how she got there. Beneath her cheek, the pillow was cold and stiff and uncomfortable. Her frozen tears brought the pain and fear crashing back down on top of her once more. She rolled over and did her very best to pretend that she did not exist.


	2. Pleas Unanswered

"Elsa?" _Knock knock-knock-knock knock_.

Jerked out of a fitful sleep, the young princess found herself out of bed and across the room before she'd even had time to think. Her body had simply responded to the sound of her sister's voice without bothering to consult her brain. Her hand was already reaching for the doorknob when Anna's voice came once again from the hallway outside.

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

Elsa froze. Her eyes grew wide as memories of what had happened the last time she'd risen to that invitation flooded her senses. She sank to her knees, staring at the door helplessly.

Outside, her sister continued to talk, trying to cajole her out of her room. But Elsa's mind refused to process the words. She only heard the sing-song melody of Anna's bright and cheery voice, while the horrifying scene replayed itself once again before her mind's eye.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Anna, suspended in midair, in the midst of a leap of faith, completely confident that her sister would catch her.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Anna, starting her fall as Elsa frantically scrambled to regain her footing on the ice-slicked floor.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Anna, cradled in Elsa's arms, her tiny body swiftly turning ice cold.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Anna!

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

The innocent phrase echoed endlessly inside her mind. Only instead of fading away, it kept growing louder and louder. The voice in her head became cold and shrill. Taunting her. Mocking her.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Please, go away.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Please, Anna... Make it go away!

_Do you want to build a snowman?_/

GO AWAY! Anna... Please help me!

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

"Go away! Anna!"

Elsa hadn't meant to say it out loud. Didn't even realize she _had_ said it aloud until she noticed that the voice from the other side of the door had suddenly stopped. Her hands flew to her mouth. She leaned forward, ear pressed to the door, hoping to catch even the slightest noise from the other side. She held her breath.

"Okay, bye." The young girl's voice was so thoroughly crestfallen that tears immediately welled up in Elsa's eyes.

No! She wanted to cry out. No, please don't leave me! That wasn't what I meant! Please don't go! But her throat was suddenly so constricted, she couldn't make a sound.

She strained to hear each tiny footfall as they dwindled away. Each one drove a sharp stab of pain into her heart.

• • •

Anna wandered aimlessly through the halls of the palace. She paid no attention to where she was. She didn't particularly care where she was going. She simply didn't know what else to do. So she walked.

She couldn't understand what was happening, why Elsa insisted on shutting her out like this. Her sister hadn't been down to dinner, or any other meal for that matter, for nearly a week. Anna had tried to follow Gerda's advice and just give the older girl some time alone in what seemed to be her new bedroom. But it wasn't easy. Anna had never slept alone before, and she found it ever so hard to drift off without her sister's comforting presence in the bed across the room.

And of course, Elsa had always been her best playmate! Nearly her only playmate, really, because there had never been many children her age among the families of the palace staff. Now with the closing of the castle gates, there really were no young children left at all. Anna did her best to entertain herself, but it wasn't the same. And by this time, she was starting to run out of new ideas for ways to make Nanny red in the face.

So last night, as she was being tucked into bed, Anna had finally asked in frustration, "Mama, when is Elsa going to come out and play with me again?"

The queen, who's back had mercifully been turned towards her little girl at that moment, flinched as if Anna had struck her. She took a few quick breaths to try to calm her voice. But she still couldn't bring herself to look at her little girl when she said, "Elsa isn't going to be able to play with you for a while, sweetheart. Perhaps for quite a long while." And before Anna could ask another question, her mother was already at the door. Only as her hand grasped the doorknob had she dared to glance back at her daughter. Attempting what she hoped was a reassuring smile, she called softly, "Good night, my dearest Anna." Then she pulled the door closed behind her.

Naturally, Anna had found this to be a completely unsatisfactory answer. And when she woke up bright and early the next morning, and saw that an unseasonably early snow fall had blanketed the grounds outside her window, she had instantly decided that it was time to take matters into her own hands. So she had raced to Elsa's door, rapped out her signature knock, and called out to her sister.

Now, she wished more than anything that she hadn't. Being ignored by Elsa was bad enough. That at least had happened once before, after Anna had pulled what she thought at the time was just a harmless and funny prank on her sister. For some reason, though, Elsa had not found a caterpillar down her dress to be nearly so amusing. Her silent treatment had lasted all day.

It had left Anna feeling so miserable that she had slipped out of bed as soon as their parents had left the room that night, tiptoed to Elsa's bedside, and begged her forgiveness in a whisper that threatened to turn to tears. It turned out, of course, that Elsa had been feeling quite as guilty about the way she had treated her baby sister, and wouldn't accept Anna's apology until Anna accepted hers. Forgiveness granted all around, Anna had crawled under Elsa's covers to cuddle up alongside her for the night, and they had never mentioned the incident again.

But the way Elsa had spoken to her just now... That was new, and scary. It wasn't just the words, though those hurt badly enough. It was the sound of her sister's voice. There had been real anger and... fear? What could Anna have possibly done to make her big sister afraid of her? She replayed the last weeks over and over in her head. But she couldn't think of a single thing she had done that could have caused Elsa to start treating her this way. She sniffled. How could she make things right with her sister when she didn't even know what she'd...

"Oof!"

"Oh!" Anna staggered back a step or two and looked up. There stood her father, the king, peering down at her over a sheaf of papers that he was holding in his hands. "Oh, I'm sorry, Anna. I guess I wasn't looking where I was going. Are you alright?"

Anna nodded. "It's OK, Papa. I wasn't looking where _I _was going either." She tried to smile up at him, but she could tell by the look on his face that she hadn't quite managed it.

"Is something wrong, Anna?" he asked, concern causing his brows to draw together slightly. Something in his eyes suggested that he already knew the answer to this question.

"No, Papa," Anna tried her best to lie. She clearly wasn't very good at it, though, as was again made clear by the look her father gave her. Lowering her eyes sheepishly, she corrected herself. "Yes, Papa."

With an understanding smile on his lips, the king squatted down in front of his youngest daughter, took her chin gently with his hand, and tilted her face up until she was looking him in the eye. "I know the last few weeks have been difficult for you, Anna. And I know you can't understand why so many things have had to change so suddenly. But I can only hope you'll believe me when I tell you that all of this is for the best. Both for you and for your sister."

Anna opened her mouth to ask one of the many questions that were bouncing around inside her head. How can this be good when I'm miserable and Elsa won't come out of her room? Why won't Elsa come out of her room? Was it something that I did? What can I do to make it better? How can I let Elsa know that I'm sorry so she'll come out and play with me again? How...

But that was when her eyes fell on the papers that the king still held in his free hand, covered in finely inked lettering. And suddenly, Anna had an idea. Oh, and what a perfect idea it was, too! This would do it for sure. It just had to! She couldn't wait to get started! Leaning forward, she gave her father a swift peck on his cheek. "Thank you, Papa! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Then she turned and sped off back down the hallway, leaving the king squatting in the middle of the floor, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

Anna, meanwhile, was headed straight to her bedroom. She took the turn into the doorway so fast, she nearly skidded right past. Once inside, though, she threw open the doors of her wardrobe. Soon, she was flinging clothing this way and that until she finally found her heavy winter coat and thick warm boats. She pulled them on as quickly as she could, though her haste made her clumsy and it probably took her twice as long as it should. Then she was back out into the corridors and heading straight for the nearest exit.

As she pelted through the snow-covered gardens, stumbling occasionally in the thick powder, she looked up at the palace walls and counted the windows. Here! Yes, this was the perfect spot. Right here. And after only a moment's thought, she set to work.

It was slow going. This sort of thing wasn't exactly her specialty. And the snow was surprisingly deep for the first fall of the year. But she doggedly toiled away all through the morning. She didn't even bother going inside for the midday meal. This was far more important than food. Finally, after hours of labor, Anna stood back and admired her handiwork. She nodded once to herself, a satisfied smile on her face. Then she reached down and grabbed a handful of snow between her mittened hands. Packing it tightly, she turned towards the palace, took careful aim, and threw.

She missed.

Pouting slightly, she packed another snowball, aimed, and flung it at her target again. This one broke up half way through its arc.

Now more than a little exasperated, Anna grabbed a third handful of snow, mashing it together with the fierce determination that only a frustrated five-year-old can manage. Not bothering to aim at all, she simply flung it with all her might.

Naturally, it hit spot on target with a satisfying "whap". Anna waited, holding her breath without realizing it.

A few seconds later, a clear circle appeared on the fogged glass of the window. It grew wider as the room's occupant wiped at it with the cuff of her sleeve, trying to see what had made the noise.

Elsa peered out though the peephole. She looked down and saw Anna standing there, looking back at her, face alight. Beside her, in four foot tall letters she had clearly tread into the deep blanket of snow, were two words.

ƧORRY ELƧA

Anna watched expectantly, waiting to see her sister's face break into a smile. Waiting for her to wave at Anna to come and join her in her room. Waiting for her older sister to show that everything was forgiven and that they could go back to being best friends again.

But Elsa just stared, wide-eyed, at the writing. Her fingers, which were still pressed against the glass, jerked once spasmodically. Her jaw worked without her mouth actually opening. Then, as Anna watched, she backed slowly away from the window, disappearing once more into the shadows of her room. The circle of cleared glass fogged over with surprising speed.

Anna remained outside in the snow, just staring at her sister's window, feeling numb with more than mere cold. No tears came; she was too lost for tears to find her. She just stood there, frozen in that spot. It was hours later before Nanny came looking for her and, clucking with disapproval, guided her charge back inside.


	3. The New Normal

Soon enough, Elsa's life fell into a new (albeit lonelier) pattern. At first, her mother visited her every day. Sometimes the king would join her, but often she would come alone. She would smile and try to offer Elsa words of encouragement. The queen was a soft spoken but surprisingly strong willed woman, and a warm smile or light laugh had never before been far from her face. However, it quickly became clear that there was now a distance between mother and daughter that had never existed before. And though she clearly wanted to reach out to her first born child, to ease her suffering, her every attempt seemed to just cause Elsa to withdraw further within herself. It wasn't long before the queen seemed at a complete loss for words.

Elsa, who'd always admired her mother greatly, found herself unconsciously mimicking her new attitude. Whenever the queen asked Elsa a question, the princess responded quietly and succinctly, with a careful economy of words. The beautiful, joyful, lyrical exchanges they had once shared quickly faded into memory. Their conversations – if they could still be called that – grew ever shorter. Eventually, they became little more than uncomfortable silences where the two looked across the room at each other, each struggling to come up with some magical words that would bridge the gap that had grown between them. Each hoping that the other would find the words that they themselves could not.

For a few months, Elsa also continued to receive regular visits from her tutor. Both her parents agreed that her education had to continue, of course. As the future Queen of Arendelle, there was so much she would have to know about her people, her kingdom's history, and the surrounding lands. But Professor Engelstad was no fool, and he was bound to grow suspicious as to why his star pupil never left her room anymore. So eventually, his lessons stopped, and her mother began to supervise Elsa's schooling.

Their relationship during these sessions remained strained and awkwardly formal. But at least it gave them something to talk about again, even if the discussions now more closely resembled those between teacher and pupil than between mother and daughter. Only occasionally would the tiniest of cracks appear in this façade. When a quote from one of their favorite poets would unexpectedly appear in one of her text books, or some innocuous anecdote would trigger a bittersweet memory from a simpler time. Then, the queen's breath might catch. A wan smile might tug at the corner of Elsa's lips. The young girl and the regal lady might steal an unguarded glance at each other.

It was just enough to let both of them know that a deep and abiding love still lay between them. Yet it remained too painful for either to acknowledge more openly. Elsa remained convinced that she was doomed to hurt those dearest to her, and so struggled to keep everyone at a distance. And the queen, unable to find a way through the walls that Elsa was building between them, had finally resigned herself to honoring her daughter's wishes.

Only late at night, in the privacy of the royal bedchambers, did the queen allow herself to weep. Then she clung to her husband for comfort as he held her tightly in his arms.

The king, for his part, tried to cope as best he could by burying himself in his royal duties. And with the castle staff much reduced, he seemed to have more to juggle than ever before. So while he wasn't able to visit his eldest daughter every day, he tried to stop in whenever he could, even if only for a few minutes at a time. Now and again, he would spell his wife at Elsa's tutelage. He tried not to do this too often, for he knew how precious that time spent with Elsa was to his wife, however awkward it might have become. But there were some things, after all, that he felt the future heir to the throne could only learn from the current ruling monarch.

There was one piece of wisdom in particular, which his own father had passed down to him, that he thought might help the princess in her current situation. And so he would return to it again and again, whether they were discussing foreign diplomacy or the mediation of disputes among the citizens of Arendelle. "Now Elsa, a queen must always be just and fair. But that isn't always easy. In fact, it can be very difficult sometimes to set aside your personal feelings and do what's right. You mustn't let anger or fear or resentment guide your actions. For the good of your kingdom and your people, you have to keep such feelings hidden. Conceal it, don't feel it. Don't let it show. And once people learn that you will always listen patiently and treat them fairly, no matter what, you'll find that they're much more willing to consider your opinions and honor your decisions."

The king's toughest challenge, however, was struggling to conceal his concern – no, his fear, if he was being honest with himself. It wasn't that he was afraid of Elsa, of course. Not even that he was afraid of her inexplicable powers. No, he was afraid of what the struggle to control them was doing to his little girl. He knew she was trying her hardest to keep them in check, which made it all the more heartbreaking to watch every time they got the better of her. And he saw how each failure just eroded her confidence that much more, making the next slip all the more likely.

He also feared for his kingdom. He feared what his subjects would think if they found out about Elsa's strange magic. He feared that the various trading partners (upon which Arendelle relied so heavily for many goods) would turn away if they found out that the kingdom was one day to come under the rule of… What would they call her? What insulting moniker would someone like that thrice bedeviled Duke of Weselton pin to his precious girl? Something ghastly, he was sure. "The Snow Queen?" Heh, if she was lucky.

All these fears, he tried to hide from everyone. But especially from Elsa herself. He knew they would only upset her, and that could only make matters worse.

What he didn't realize was that Elsa, now having only two regular visitors to the secluded refuge of her room, had grown incredibly adept at reading every little nuance of her parents' expressions and body language. So yes, Elsa saw her mother's worry. She saw her father's fear. But since both tried their best to pretend that everything was perfectly fine around their daughter, she was left to draw her own conclusions about the source of their worries. About what they feared.

And given the state of her own feelings at that time, it was perhaps inevitable that Elsa became convinced that her parents feared her, every bit as much as she feared herself.

Of course, Elsa did have one other regular visitor. After that one snowy day, when her panic and fear forced three careless words out of her mouth, three misspoken words that had driven her sister away, Elsa had feared Anna might never come back. And yet, she also feared that she would. After all, the further away Anna remained, the safer she would be, right? So wasn't it a good thing that Elsa had driven her away, even though she hadn't meant to?

Her head warred with her heart, neither willing to give an inch. She had been in such turmoil that, when she had seen Anna's plaintive apology written in the snow, she had simply shut down. She couldn't cope with it. How could Anna possibly think she needed to apologize? It should be Elsa begging her forgiveness. And yet she couldn't, because...

The war had raged within her for days. And then, against all hope, Anna's voice had finally returned to her door again. Elsa's spirits soared at the bottomless reserves of forgiveness her younger sister seemed to have stored inside her. Her chest ached with the pain of being separated from her. Her heart leapt with affection for the girl who had been her best friend and closest confidante for years. Her heart nearly stopped when she thought about how close she had come that one night to…

She longed to apologize. She wanted to beg Anna's forgiveness for everything. But now, Elsa found that she didn't trust her own voice. Exactly like her powers, it had already betrayed her once and so nearly deprived her of Anna's company forever. And even though any damage those harsh words might have caused had apparently been buried and forgotten, Elsa still didn't trust herself. She didn't trust that, if she ever allowed even the smallest connection to form between herself and Anna again, that she'd ever be able to keep that door in place between them. The door that, at least in Elsa's mind, kept Anna safe.

So now when Anna came to visit, Elsa would sit quietly on her bed, trying to silence the war within just long enough that she could drink in every single word the younger girl had to say. Sometimes, Anna would try to wheedle Elsa into coming out and joining in her latest crazy exploit. Sometimes, she would try to engage her big sister in a conversation, about pretty much any topic that she thought might stand a chance of getting Elsa to respond.

But since it quickly became clear that these attempts at engaging her sister weren't getting anywhere, Anna would most often just sit outside her door and talk to her. She would talk about her day, about what she'd learned in her lessons, about the latest castle gossip (which she usually overheard by eavesdropping outside the kitchen door whenever she stole downstairs to sneak off with an otherwise forbidden treat). She'd talk about the weather, or about the latest emissary from the Southern Isles whom father had met with that morning, or the particularly beautiful patch of crocuses that had just bloomed in the gardens.

In this way, Anna became Elsa's one truest link to the world outside her door – and to the kingdom that she would someday rule. The lessons she sat with mother and father were obviously important, but they were mostly so abstract that they could have applied to any country. It was through Anna that Elsa really learned about her people. She learned of their hopes and dreams, their fears and worries. She learned about all the little things that made up their daily lives.

For even though Anna rarely left the castle grounds herself these days, she was the sort of person who made friends with nearly everybody she met. She would carry on a conversation with any member of the household staff, from the king's closest advisors to the scullery maids working in the kitchens. And no matter a person's rank or station, when Anna focused her ebullient personality on you, you felt like the most important person in the world.

So Elsa listened, but did not speak. And for now, that seemed to be enough for both sisters. Besides, what could Elsa possibly have to talk about that would be anywhere near as interesting as the stories Anna had to tell? Nothing ever changed within the four walls of her tiny little world anyway.


	4. Midsummer's Eve

"Anyway, Nanny cleaned off my knee (again). And scolded me for climbing the bird cherry tree (again). Then she said that I had to promise (again) that I wouldn't climb the garden trees anymore! I tried to tell her that I'd never promised any such thing in the first place, but she wouldn't listen. Luckily, I just _happened_ to hear, um... Mama, yeah! … calling at that exact moment, and I couldn't keep Mama waiting, of course!" Anna giggled at the memory of her little white lie. She still wasn't very good at it. But it had only been Nanny, after all.

She was sitting cross-legged on the floor outside Elsa's room, her back against the door that was, as always, shut. Still, in the months since her sister had first closed that door on her, the young princess had finally been forced to accept the changes. Well, accept was perhaps too strong a word. More accurate to say that she had settled on a somewhat longer term plan for drawing her sister back out of her shell.

But patience never came easily to Anna. And of course, some days were worse than others. And though Anna had tried her hardest to keep her voice cheery and lighthearted, in her eternal effort to also keep Elsa's spirits up... Well, today had been really bad.

Anna suddenly realized that she hadn't spoken for several long minutes. She had just been sitting there, staring at her lap. Oh great, way to keep Elsa company, you ninny. And yet, the little redhead still found herself in the totally unfamiliar position of being completely unable to think what to say next. Or rather, she knew what she needed to say. She was just scared to actually put it into words.

Shifting uncomfortably, Anna finally forced herself to speak, hoping that if she could just get started, her usual talkative instincts would take over. "Um, Elsa?" Her voice, which a short while ago had been bright and bouncy, now came out hesitant and unsure. "Er, I don't know if you remembered, but… um… Well, today is Midsummer's Eve?" The last bit came out almost like a question. "And, well, we always used to have so much fun every year you know, what with the big feast for the whole castle, and then the bonfire down at the shore and… and…"

She trailed off and was silent again for another painfully long moment. Finally, she sniffled before continuing. "Well, we didn't do any of that this year. I think Mama and Papa felt it wouldn't be right to do it without… without... you." Anna's voice broke. And when she finally spoke again, it was thick with tears.

"Anyway, I just couldn't stand not doing _something_ to celebrate this year. And if I couldn't do it _with_ you, than I could at least do it _for_ you." She sobbed openly now. "I know it's not much but…" She slid her gift off her lap and under the door. "I hope you like it, Elsa."

She scrambled awkwardly to her feet and bolted down the hallway, tears running thickly down her cheeks.

• • •

Elsa, sitting on her bed, just stared at the object by the door. The sun was setting now, and in the fading light from her window, she couldn't make out what it was. Slowly, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, then dropped quietly to the floor. Walking on tiptoe, as if afraid she might startle this strange apparition that had so abruptly intruded into her world, she cautiously closed the distance. Kneeling down, she reached out and tentatively brushed her fingers over the thin, flat object. Finally, she picked it up, lifted it into the fading light, and stared.

It was a book of children's poems that she had often tried to read to Anna in happier days. The younger girl had always seemed more interested in the beautifully illuminated pictures than in the cute little verses it contained. But it was something that they had always enjoyed together, even if it was for different reasons. Who knew how many afternoons they'd spent together, just turning the pages of that little book.

She opened the front cover, and was surprised once again when a slip of paper fluttered down onto her lap. She picked it up, unfolded it. It took her a moment to recognize the handwriting. Well, the big block letters were a clear giveaway that it had to have been her sister's young and inexperienced hand. But it wasn't her typical, hastily scribbled scrawl. Anna had clearly taken a great deal of time and care to ink out this note as neatly as she could. So Elsa read:

The warm summer sun

And autumn's rich hue.

The pure winter snow.

A spring morning's dew.

Mean nothing to me

If I can't share them with you.

\- Love,

Anna

A speck of white drifted down and landed on the paper. Then another. And another. Elsa clutched the poem and the book tightly to her chest and began rocking back and forth silently.

As the last light faded on the longest day of the year, Midsummer's Eve, one little princess sat quietly in the middle of her own small snowstorm. Another lay curled on her bed, clinging to the covers as if her very life depended on it. Both tried with all their might to keep their hearts from breaking.

• • •

After receiving Anna's gift, Elsa read it and reread it and re-reread it until she could recite all the poems in it by heart. That little gift, "not much" in Anna's eyes, had done more than she could possibly have imagined. It had rekindled Elsa's love for poetry, which she hadn't thought about for the better part of the last year.

And so, at the end of lessons one day, Elsa finally worked up the courage to ask her mother if she could perhaps borrow one, or maybe two, of the volumes of verse from the library. You know, just to help her pass the time. It was the first time that either could remember Elsa initiating a conversation about anything besides her studies since she'd first retreated into her seclusion.

The queen had given her such a shocked look, that Elsa quickly apologized and begged her forgiveness, despite the fact that she really wasn't at all sure what she had done wrong. Her mother had simply continued to stare at her for another few seconds, then had hurried out of Elsa's room.

Feeling miserable, Elsa had collapsed onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Somehow, she'd messed up again. No matter how hard she tried, she never seemed able to be the good girl her parents always expected her to be. For the briefest of moments, she experienced a spurt of jealousy towards Anna, who seemed to have an uncanny ability to get into twelve kinds of mischief in less than a minute. But because she wasn't the Heir to the Throne of Arendelle, nobody ever seemed to mind too much. How was that at all fair?

Elsa had spent barely a minute or two buried deep in her own self-pity when she suddenly heard the sound of a throat being quietly cleared. It sounded like it had come from just inside her door. She pushed herself up onto her elbows and turned to look.

There stood her mother, nearly hidden behind a stack of books in her arms that had to be over three feet high. Thick tomes, thin folios, and everything in between. Elsa couldn't believe that the queen had been able to carry such a heavy pile all the way from the library. And so quickly, yet apparently without dropping a single one. Elsa could only hope to grow up to have half her mother's poise and grace.

Almost on cue, the top several books slid off the dangerously teetering pile and toppled to the floor. Just for a moment, as the queen looked down at the errant volumes, Elsa thought she caught a glimpse of an embarrassed flush on her mother's cheek, peeking out from behind the remaining stack. Despite herself, the young girl laughed. She couldn't help it.

The sound so startled the queen that half of books still in her arms suddenly followed their earlier comrades in flight. Elsa laughed again, even louder. And this time, she found that she simply couldn't stop!

The queen poked her head over the top of the (now much shorter) pile of books to stare dumbly at Elsa. The corners of her lips twitched, then curled upwards. Her lips parted in a broad grin. And soon, she was laughing too, shoulders shaking so much in her amusement that two more books fell to the floor, and the mirth was redoubled.

Their laughter rang through the room. It drifted out the open door, and down the hallway. For one shining moment, it seemed like their joy was enough to fill the entire castle.

And then the moment passed. Elsa finally managed to rein in her merriment. She quickly hopped off the bed and began to help her mother pick up the books. Together, they arranged them into several neat piles on her desk.

The queen smiled down fondly at her elder daughter. Elsa grinned sheepishly back. Then her mother, lost in the moment, reached out her hand to tuck a stray lock of blonde hair back behind her daughter's ear.

Elsa instinctively recoiled. She couldn't help herself. Ever since "That Night," she'd simply found herself intensely uncomfortable with the thought of anybody trying to touch her. And for most of the time since then, the emotional walls she'd built up around herself had kept that from being much of a problem. But here, today, when the walls had come down for that one brief moment...

She saw her mother's face fall, the look of tender kindness suddenly replaced by one of deep sadness and loss. Elsa quickly tried to recover. "Sorry, Mama," she said. "I didn't mean... I mean... What I meant was..." She sighed. "Thanks for the books?"

The queen smiled at her daughter once again. It was a smaller smile now, but a heartfelt one all the same. "You're welcome, dear."

Still, it had been a good day, all things considered. Probably the best Elsa had experienced since her self-imposed exile. Over the weeks that followed, she proceeded to read for herself all the collections that her mother had read to her when she was younger. When she finished those, she tackled new volumes. Some of these, like the great epics, were very challenging for her, and her pace slowed considerably. But this was a challenge that she felt she could handle. After all, no one had ever gotten hurt reading poetry. And no one reading poetry had ever hurt anyone else either, as far as she knew.

The verses sparked her imagination, opening worlds beyond these four walls that she thought had been closed off to her forever. They calmed her. It even seemed like her control over her powers had begun to improve since she'd started reading them. Maybe, just maybe, Elsa had finally found a path out of her darkness – a road she could follow that might eventually lead her out of her isolation. And all because of one little gift on Midsummer's Eve.

"Thank you, Anna," she whispered into her pillow one night as she drifted off to sleep. "Thank you for being my sister."


	5. Moving Forward, Losing Ground

The clear sunlight of a crisp autumn afternoon streamed in through Elsa's window. Her lessons for the day were done. And for once, she just wasn't in the mood to lose herself in any of the books that were piled on her desk. Instead, she simply knelt on the cushioned bench beneath her window and looked out over the palace gardens. A few of the trees were just starting to change color, but most were still a deep and vibrant green. The autumn breeze blew ripples across the little duck pond. It brought back memories. Had it only been a year ago? No more than two, surely. Either way, it felt like forever...

• • •

Anna had somehow gotten it into her head that she could talk to ducks. Not just talk _at_ ducks, mind you, but actually talk _to_ them. And have them understand. To Elsa, this seemed completely absurd. But the little redhead seemed so confident and sure of herself that her big sister, as was so often the case, found herself just following along in the riotous wake that was Anna.

And so, they proceeded to spend the better part of the day running from one end of the palace grounds to the other, chasing after the little yellow ducklings that had just recently hatched. But try as they might, they could never seem to catch one. This didn't phase Anna, of course, even the umpteenth time she found herself sprawled out on the ground after a diving attempt to nab the slowest of the little puffballs in the flock. She just hopped up and giggled, brushing ineffectually at grass stains that now covered her dress from head to toe.

Privately, Elsa wondered if this wasn't the real reason why most of Anna's wardrobe seemed to consist entirely of shades of green.

The older princess tried to keep up with her little sister. But that was just about as practical as trying to keep up with a whirlwind. By the middle of the afternoon, she was exhausted, and collapsed listlessly against the trunk of one of her favorite shade trees.

"What's the matter, Elsa?" piped a voice from overhead. Elsa looked up to find, not at all to her surprise, Anna hanging upside down by her knees from a tree limb just above her.

"I'm sorry, Anna," the blonde girl replied with a sigh. "I don't know how you do it. But I'm pooped!"

"Hehe," Anna snickered. "Elsa said, 'Poop!'" Elsa merely rolled her eyes.

Displaying her typical lack of fear, and equally typical lack of coordination, Anna attempted to dismount from the tree branch while flipping head over heels to land on her feet. She was only partially successful; she landed on her back with a whump. This didn't seem to phase her in the slightest, of course.

Shaking her head, Elsa leaned back against the tree trunk and gazed through the leaves at the blue sky overhead. "Anna," she began after a minute's silence. "If you could be anything you wanted to be when you grow up, what would you be?"

"I'd be Anna!" came the immediate reply. "Who else would I be?"

Stifling another sigh, Elsa tried again. "No, I don't mean _who_ will you be! I mean _what_ would you _want_ to be? What would you want to do with your life?" She paused once more to collect her thoughts. "Someday when I grow up, I'm going to be queen. I've always known that for as long as I can remember. But I sometimes wonder... what would it be like to have a choice? And if I did have a choice, what would I choose? I mean, maybe I'd still choose to be queen anyway! But..."

She sat in silence for another long minute, still staring at the sky, lost in her own thoughts. Then she mentally shook herself. "Anyway, Anna. What would you like to be when you grow up?"

She turned to look at young girl sprawled in the grass next to her. And her eyes bulged when she saw Anna, lying there on her back, cupping a little yellow duckling in her hands, softly stroking its downy head.

"Well that's easy," Anna replied, still petting the little duck. She turned her head to look squarely at Elsa. "I'd want to be your sister!"

As Elsa's jaw fell open, Anna turned away again and addressed her next words to the fluffy duckling still perched in her palms. "That sure was a silly question, wasn't it, Disa?"

Quack!

• • •

Elsa smiled at the memory. She was smiling more often these days. In the last three months, she hadn't had a single incident with her powers, and her confidence was growing in like measure. Her lesson times had lost some of their stilted formality, and her conversations with her mother felt almost... well, maybe not quite back to how they had once been. But definitely easier and less guarded.

And then there was the one time when her mom had, in a moment of pure parental pride, reached across the desk to squeeze her daughter's hand, after Elsa had worked out a particularly knotty geometry problem all on her own, refusing to accept any queenly assistance. To both of their surprise, Elsa hadn't drawn back, hadn't even flinched. She had just stopped and stared at her mother's delicate fingers wrapped lightly around her own. Then she lifted her gaze and met her mother's eyes. In them, she saw the faint gleam of unshed tears, threatening to spill down the queen's cheeks.

The queen had made a nervous noise that was halfway between a laugh and a hiccup. She withdrew her hand, dabbing at her watery eyes. And she smiled. Elsa had smiled back.

In fact, the only area where she felt like she wasn't making much progress was with Anna. Maybe it was because the incident with her sister was what had driven Elsa inside herself in the first place. Maybe it was guilt and embarrassment at having shut Anna out so completely for so long. Or maybe it was that she just couldn't even begin to find the right words with which to end this year long silence.

Whatever the reason, Elsa still had not been able to bring herself to speak to Anna during her regular visits to the closed door. Her voice just seemed to run away and hide. It was ridiculous, she knew, but there it was. So in the end, Elsa just allowed herself to sit contentedly, eyes closed, letting Anna's happy voice and bright laughter wash over her.

And she had made a _little_ bit of progress. It wasn't much, mind you. But during the early months of her seclusion, Elsa had always listened to Anna while curled up in a tight ball on her bed. At those times, her insides had been in turmoil. Part of her still felt so much guilt about what she had done to her little sister that every word threatened to bring that one dark night crashing back down upon her. The other part of her felt like she could endure any penance, no matter how terrible, as long as she had Anna's voice as a lifeline to cling to.

Since midsummer, though, whenever Anna came to visit, Elsa carefully and quietly sat on the floor and leaned her back against her side of the door. Again, it might not be much. To Anna, it probably didn't seem like anything had changed at all. But to Elsa, it meant that she and her sister were so much closer now. Now, the distance between them didn't seem so unbridgeable. She could build that bridge. She knew she could. She just needed a little more time.

As she gazed out the window, lost in thought, a flash of orange and green caught Elsa's eye. She looked down in time to spy Anna ducking behind a neatly trimmed hedge. From her elevated angle, Elsa could still just make out the top of the strawberry blonde head where it hid. It appeared to be shaking slightly – probably with barely suppressed laughter, knowing Anna.

Elsa smiled too, and tried to angle her head to get a better look at whoever would be coming around the corner in pursuit of her sister. She fully expected to see Nanny, huffing and puffing and red in the face, an unwitting player in yet another game of hide and seek. She waited, the shared memories of those childhood games causing her to hold her own breath as if she too were in hiding.

But it wasn't Nanny who came running around the corner. It was... a girl! She was about Anna's age, maybe a year older. She was wearing a yellow dress, and her brown hair flapped behind her in a loose ponytail. She ran right past Anna's hiding place, only to stop in the middle of the lawn and cock her head, as if listening. Then she spun around and ran straight towards the hedgerow.

Anna, seeing that her hiding place had been discovered, sprang up and tried to make a run for it. She might have made it too. She timed her launch so perfectly that Elsa didn't think she would have been able to adjust in time had she been the one in pursuit of Anna. But the brunette somehow managed to perform a kind of pirouette on the spot, shot out her arm, and grabbed Anna by the wrist. Their two mismatched momenta threw them both off balance, though, and they fell to the ground in a laughing heap.

The happy smile that had formed on Elsa's lips was still frozen in place. Well, it looked like Anna had made a new friend. That was... that was good! A warm, outgoing personality like Anna's deserved to have lots of friends. It wasn't fair that she should have to be cooped up in this castle all the time without any other children her age, just because of her big sister's little problem. Elsa should be happy for her. It was only to be expected, after all. Only right that Anna was moving on with her life. Leaving her sister behind.

A wave of cold swept through the room. A sharp crackling noise rose from the window sill, upon which Elsa's hands were resting. The sound drew her gaze downward.

Ice. Ice! It quickly spread out from beneath her hands until it reached from one side of the window to the other. Crystals of frost crept up the window panes, obscuring her vision of the two small girls still playing in the gardens below.

Elsa pulled her hands away from the window, recoiling as if she'd been burned. "No," she breathed. "No, no, no, no, no..." She broke down in tears and buried her face in her hands.


	6. Hand in Glove

When the king stopped to visit his first born daughter later that evening, she had barely moved from her spot by the window. Only now, she was curled up into a tight little ball on the cushions. And now, the ice completely covered the window from top to bottom, and had begun to creep across the walls as well.

He quickly crossed the room to try and comfort his stricken child. But when he attempted to gently stroke her hair, she jerked away. The frightened little girl scrambled backwards across the bench until she ran into the wall. There was a faint tinkling sound as some of the ice behind her cracked and fell. Trembling, she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and hid her face behind them.

The king, at a loss, sat down on the bench beside her, trying to comfort her with his presence while staying far enough away to not frighten the poor child even further. "Elsa?" he began. "What happened?" When he got no response, he tried a different approach. "Did something frighten you?" Again, he waited. But this time, though no words came in reply, he was just able to see Elsa's head shake once behind her knees.

"Did someone hurt you?" he asked, as he watched the little blonde head for a response. It started to nod, then stopped. Then it looked like Elsa might shake it instead, but again it stopped. Finally, her shoulders rose and fell in what could either have been a shrug or another tremendous sob.

Her father drew in a long, deep breath, then let it out slowly. He turned his head and surveyed the layer of ice that now covered most of the window alcove. "Oh, Elsa," he breathed. "You'd been doing so well..."

Elsa let out a piteous cry. She'd failed again. Failed her father. Failed her mother. Failed herself. But perhaps worst of all, she'd failed Anna. How could she be so jealous of her little sister's affections? Didn't she want Anna to be happy? Didn't she want to give her the chance at a normal life? Wasn't that why she'd spent the last year shutting that door in her face, hoping that maybe she would move on and leave her broken big sister behind?

"Elsa," came the king's strong voice. She could feel him staring intently at her. "There's something I'd like you to try. I actually thought of it several months ago. But then you seemed to be making so much progress on your own, and..." His voice trailed off. Then he coughed once and said, "Come with me, Elsa."

He led the way down the hall. While every fatherly instinct wanted to reach out and hold his daughter's hand as they walked, or pick her up and carry her, he instead simply forced himself to slow his pace and never let his eyes stray off her sad little face. After a short walk, which felt like miles to Elsa, he opened the door to the sitting room and ushered her inside. A fire had already been set in the hearth, in anticipation of the autumn night's chill.

"Wait here," he instructed. Then he walked over to a cabinet set against the far wall, opened a small drawer, and withdrew something from inside it. Turning, he walked back and knelt down before Elsa. "Hold out your hands."

Elsa did as she was told. He tried his best to minimize his contact with her, but Elsa nevertheless stiffened as, first on her right hand then her left, her father tugged on two snow white gloves that had obviously been tailored specifically for her hands.

"The gloves will help," he explained in what he clearly thought was a reassuring tone of voice. "See?" and he wrapped both his hands around her still outstretched left. "Conceal it. Don't feel it."

"Don't feel it. Don't let it show," Elsa intoned with him in a voice that sounded dead in her own ears. For the last several months, her father somehow hadn't felt the need to include that mantra as part of every lesson. But that had been when it seemed like she might actually have found her own path to controlling her abilities. When it seemed like she might not have to hide forever. That time was now lost to the past.

She wanted to cry again, or to scream at the top of her lungs. Instead, she managed to force a small smile onto her face. After all, that's what a good girl would do. A proper princess. Besides, she knew her father meant well. And the sooner he thought she had calmed down again, the sooner she could retreat once more behind the safety of her closed door. She felt all wrong out here, bathed in the warm glow of the burning logs. She didn't belong here.

• • •

"Good night, Anna." Her mother and father smiled back at their little princess as they stepped into the hallway and drew the door shut behind them.

Anna snuggled deeper under her blankets and smiled to herself as she thought back on the wonderful day that had just ended. So many exciting things had happened that she just kept running them over and over again in her mind. She was certain she'd never get to sleep. But her body had also spent most of the day running all around the castle grounds, and the huge yawn it served up argued otherwise.

She was just skirting the edges of a delicious drowse when her eyes snapped wide open. She sat bolt upright in bed, her breath catching in her throat. Was that her sister's name she'd just heard spoken in hushed tones from the hallway outside? She held her breath and strained to listen.

"Are you sure Elsa is alright?" No doubt now; that was definitely Mama's voice. And she sounded worried. Was something wrong with her sister?

As quickly and quietly as she could, she slipped out from under the covers and tiptoed across the room. Pressing her ear to the keyhole, she listened to the muted conversation in the hallway beyond. Her father spoke.

"I don't know, darling. I wish I could tell you that she was fine, that everything was going to be better now. But... Well, you know as well and as much as I do. She had been doing so much better all summer. I have no idea what caused this relapse. She wouldn't talk to me about it, and I was afraid to push her, she was shaking so badly when I found her."

Anna wasn't entirely sure what a relapse was, but she knew it was a bad thing. Wasn't it usually something that happened to sick people? Oh no, was Elsa ill?

She heard a stifled sob that must have come from her mother. Her father continued in a more reassuring tone. "Now, now, dear. Our little Elsa is strong. Stronger than she herself realizes, I think. It's part of the reason why I'm hopeful that this latest idea will help. And even if it doesn't, then we will just try something else. And we will keep trying. We _will_ find a way to get through this. To get Elsa through this."

All Anna heard then was a rustle of clothing, a moment of profound silence, and then finally soft footsteps fading away down the passageway. Slowly, she turned to lean her back against the door, trying to make sense of everything she'd just heard. She'd been pondering for several minutes before the realization struck her.

Elsa! She had completely forgotten to visit Elsa today! She felt the color drain from her cheeks. How could she have forgotten? And what must her sister think of her? Oh, and if Elsa was ill, that made it even worse. Well, there was only one thing to do.

A moment later, the door to Anna's room opened the tiniest crack, and a blue eye peeked out through the gap. Satisfied that the coast was clear, the rest of Anna soon slipped out too, closing the door as quietly as she could behind her. Then she broke into a run, her stockinged feet making barely a sound as she navigated the deserted corridors.

When she finally reached Elsa's door, she lifted her hand to rap out her usual knock. But then, a thought struck her. What if Elsa was already asleep? She don't want to wake her sister, especially if she was sick. Hmm. She hadn't thought about that before she'd set out on this late visit. Still, she'd come all this way. And she still felt guilty about not having stopped by earlier. So, lowering her hand, she did the next best thing she could think of.

"Psst! Elsa, are you awake?" She tried to pitch her voice quietly enough that it wouldn't disturb her sleeping sister, but loud it enough that she would be able to hear it if she was still up. It was a tricky bit of guesswork, especially since she knew perfectly well that Elsa wouldn't actually respond if she _was_ awake.

"I'm sorry I didn't stop by earlier today. I completely forgot. You know me, it's a wonder I remember my own name sometimes. But I was just so busy today, there was so much going on, and... Well, it wasn't until I overheard Mama and Papa talking outside my door just now that I remembered.

"I heard them talking about you, Elsa. I couldn't understand everything, but it sounded like they were really worried. Like you were sick or something. Oh, I do hope you're okay! And then I felt so bad about not visiting earlier, that I knew I just had to sneak out of bed and come cheer you up!"

Only as she heard herself say the words did Anna realize that she really wasn't at all sure how to go about cheering Elsa up these days. She paused for a moment to think. But she soon decided that her best option was to simply do what she normally did when on her visits to the locked door. She'd talk about her day. And after all, today's events had certainly made Anna incredibly happy. So why wouldn't they do the same for her sister?

"You'll never believe it, Elsa!" Anna nearly forget to whisper in her excitement. "But I made a new friend today! She's so pretty and funny and nice. And smart, too! Her name is Marie. Oh, Elsa, I wish you could meet her. I think you two would really be great friends! The way she goes on and on about her favorite stories and all the books she's read. I think she must love books almost as much as you do!" Anna giggled.

"She said her father has worked as a dock master all across Europe. And I guess when Papa heard how good he is, and how much better and faster the ports ran wherever he worked, he invited him to Arendelle to see if he had any ideas he could offer here.

"And guess what! Papa was so impressed with what he heard, he offered him a position as our new dock master right on the spot. So it looks like Marie and her mama and papa will be staying with us! Well, not _with _us, of course. They'll live in the village, 'cause you know how father is about guests in the castle. But since her father will be coming to talk with Papa an awful lot, it looks like Marie will be able to come and play all the time too!"

"Oh, won't it be wonderful, Elsa!"

• • •

Somewhere in the middle of her bed, Elsa curled into an even tighter ball. Despite burying herself deep beneath the blankets, she could still feel the warmth draining from her room. An icy chill was slowly taking its place.

Her bare hands clamped her pillow over her head, trying to block the sound of her sister's voice. She'd left her new gloves on her bedside table, never thinking she would need them at night in the safety of her own bed. How could she have known?

In a blind panic, her hand shot out and began groping towards the nightstand. She had to drag her body closer to the edge of the mattress before her fingers touched first hard wood and then finally the thick yet supple fabric she'd been searching for. Clutching the gloves in a vise-like grip, she yanked her arm back under the covers. Fumbling in the darkness, she finally pulled one on, then the other. Slowly, ever so slowly, she felt the advancing cold began to subside, and then retreat.

As her racing heart slowly began to relax, the first thing Elsa realized was that Anna's voice was no longer drifting in from the other side of her door. She hadn't even heard her sister's goodbye. The second thing she realized was that, for the first time she could ever remember, she was relieved that Anna wasn't there.

She thought that she should probably feel guilty about that. She was fairly sure that such guilt would catch up to her soon enough. But at that moment, all she really knew was that she wanted to sleep. To just put this dreadful day behind her for a few hours of merciful forgetfulness.

So she did her best to empty her mind, to not feel. She invited sleep to take her, just hoping that it would be dreamless. And as she finally felt herself beginning to drift, she hazily realized that there was, in fact, one other thing that she knew for certain.

She was never taking the gloves off again.


	7. Small Confidences

The queen was nearly knocked off her feet as she approached the door to the kitchens. Two diminutive forms raced out into the corridor, nearly careening off the far wall in their excitement.

"Thanks again, Gerda! Oops, sorry, Mama!" Anna called back as she and Marie disappeared down the passageway. Her mother opened her mouth to admonish her reckless daughter, but the girls had already turned a corner and vanished from sight.

Shaking her head, the queen entered the kitchen. "Please tell me Anna hasn't been giving you any trouble, Gerda."

"Not at all, your Majesty," the other woman replied, inclining her head respectfully before returning her attention to the dough she was carefully rolling out on the counter in front of her. The queen blew out her breath in exasperation.

"Gerda," she began, mock sternness coloring her voice. "We've known each other since... well, since I was Anna's age! You've played nearly as big a part in raising my daughters as my husband and I have. I consider you a friend, and I hope you feel the same way. So I ask you once again: Won't you please call me Ellinor?"

The queen braced herself, waiting the inevitable rejoinder, "Of course, your Majesty." But even after all these years, Gerda was still able to surprise her. The plump woman paused in her work, a look of sincere consideration on her face. Presently, she shook her head. "Not today, your Majesty."

The unexpected response left the queen nonplussed for several seconds as she tried to process the implications of that statement. But before she could fully tease it apart, Gerda's voice interrupted her train of thought.

"It does my heart good to see young Anna so happy again. Like the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Mind you, with everything that's happened this past year, she's held up far better than either you or I would have at her age. But still, these old halls were missing her laughter for too long a time."

The queen nodded. There was no question that little Marie had been a balm to Anna. She remembered that first day when her family had come to the palace. The king had disappeared into his stateroom with Marie's father, Anton, to discuss the state of Arendelle's harbor and docks. The queen, meanwhile, had sat down to tea and some friendly conversation with his wife. Marie had retreated quietly into her own chair, trying not to fidget or stare too pointedly at the opulent surroundings.

Then Anna had entered the room. In her typical fashion. Shoes in hand, stockinged feet skidding over the polished floors as she grabbed hold of the door frame in order to negotiate the turn at speed. She was halfway across the parlor before she realized that it was occupied. She arrested her headlong rush only after pinwheeling her arms frantically. When she turned and saw the queen and her two guests, she dipped in a (slightly awkward) curtsy, and piped, "How do you do?"

Her mother turned back to the visitors. "Jacqueline, Marie, this is my youngest daughter, Anna. Anna," she said as she pinned the girl with her gaze and raised an eyebrow, "what complaint should I expect to be hearing from your nanny today?"

Anna at least had the decency to blush. "It wasn't my fault, Mama. Honest! I was just... Well..." She glanced nervously back at the door through which she had just entered. "It's such a beautiful day, and I was in such a hurry to finish my lessons so I could get outside. I'd just finished copying out the last bit of my writing practice, and I was running to put the ink bottle back in the cabinet. But, I guess it kinda slipped? Outta my hand? And flew right out of the window. And of course, Nanny just happened to walk past right then. And..."

It was a mighty struggle for the queen to keep a straight face as her daughter's story unfolded. Jacqueline already had her hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes twinkling merrily. Marie, meanwhile, had scooted forward to the edge of her seat, and was practically bouncing with excitement at the tale.

Clearing her throat, mother addressed daughter. "Alright, Anna. I will speak to Nanny. In the meantime, perhaps you'd like to show Marie around the grounds for a little while? She and her family will be joining us for dinner, so make sure to be back by then."

The young princess's face lit up with relief and excitement. "Sure! I can do that, Mama." She gestured for the brown-haired girl to follow her. "Come on. You've _got _to see the gardens!" Marie hopped off her chair and set off after Anna, who was already setting a brisk pace as usual. The two women exchanged knowing smiles.

After tea, the queen offered Jacqueline a tour of the palace. At first, the other woman had demurred. ("No, I couldn't possibly impose on your Majesty's time in such a fashion.") But after only a little persuasion, she relented. As they walked from room to room, the queen would catch occasional glimpses out the windows of the two girls running across the well-trimmed lawns. And she saw her daughter not just smiling, but positively beaming. She hadn't seen Anna this happy since... Well, in quite a while.

When both families met for dinner that evening, Ellinor had quietly pulled her husband aside and told him all about Anna and Marie. So when the king then offered Anton the post of Arendelle's dock master, he also insisted on regular meetings so that he could be kept updated on the progress of the various changes that they had discussed that afternoon. Moreover, he made it plain that Anton's family was more than welcome to visit the castle during those times as well. In fact, he insisted.

So it was that Marie became a regular visitor to the castle. And it hadn't been long before even the pretext of the meetings between the king and the dock master was dropped.

Yes, the castle gates remained closed. No one was allowed to enter the grounds without royal permission. No one, that is, except for one seven-year-old girl.

• • •

Marie stood on tiptoe to peer over the parapet of the palace's tallest tower. Beside her, Anna sat on the wall itself, her legs dangling over the far side – a position which Nanny would almost certainly not have approved of, but it gave such a spectacular view of the fjord. The two girls sneaked up here often to admire the tall ships as they tacked in to and out of the bay. The men who stood watch on the rampart would always smile at them when they'd come bursting out of the door at the top of the stairs, tossing the girls a knowing wink as if to say, "Don't worry. We never saw you up here."

Today, despite the clear skies, a cold wind off the water gave notice to all of Arendelle that winter would soon be sweeping down from the mountains. Both girls had been forced to put away their lighter frocks several weeks earlier, and were now outfitted in long woolen dresses with brightly colored cloaks wrapped tightly around their shoulders. As such, they were perfectly comfortable for the moment, despite the chill breeze. And of course, Gerda's special mulled cider and fresh-from-the-oven muffins were keeping them pleasantly warm on the inside, as well.

Without taking her eyes from the sparkling waters, Anna suddenly said. "Tell me more about Carta... Cartahay..."

"Cartagena," Marie replied, grinning up at her friend. "And I've already told you all about it three times this week. I can't think of anything more!" Anna's curiosity about the various port cities that Marie's family had called home never seemed to flag. She would listen with rapt attention to every little story and (in Marie's mind) boring tidbit offered to her.

Now, Anna did turn and look back over her shoulder. "I know, but it just sounds so amazing! I hope I can see it for myself someday. Oh, I want to see everything! Go everywhere! It must be so exciting, traveling all the time like you and your family do."

Marie shrugged, her smile turning into something more of a wry smirk. "It isn't all adventures and sightseeing, you know. I spent as much time as any other girl, doing my chores and lessons. Besides, when you move as often as we have, that also means you never have any one place you can really think of as home. And just when you really make some good friends, it's time to say goodbye."

The stricken look on the redhead's face made Marie scramble to clarify. "Oh, don't worry. We're not going anywhere just yet. Father still has a lot of ideas that he wants to put into place. It's just that... Well, as much as you wish you could be out seeing the world, I sometimes wish we would finally stay in one place!"

A tinge of pink bloomed in her cheeks as she quietly confessed, "I'm actually a little jealous of you."

Anna blinked. Jealous? Of her? She was just Anna. There was nothing special about her to be jealous of. Well, OK, she _was_ a princess. But the fact that Marie didn't hold that against her was one of the reasons Anna was so fond of her. Even when there had been other local children in the castle for her to play with, they always held back a bit from her. They seemed worried that they might do something to offend "The Princess." That respectful distance had, in fact, annoyed her more than any of the things the others might have done if they hadn't been so nervous.

Yet for some reason, Marie didn't seem to care about any of that. She treated Anna just like any ordinary girl (which, as far as Anna was concerned, was all that she really was anyway). The only other friend she'd ever had who'd treated her like that was...

"You're thinking of your sister, aren't you?" Marie asked into the lengthening silence.

Anna started so sharply that Marie thought she would surely slide right off the wall and plunge into the chill waters below. But Anna had far too much experience with precarious perching to allow that to happen. Instead, she just gawped at her friend, her mouth working silently. Finally, she managed to squeak out, "How...?"

"Oh, Anna," Marie laughed. "It isn't hard. Whenever you talk to me about Elsa, you always get the strangest look on your face. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it, but somehow you manage to look both happy and sad at the same time."

"Sorry," Anna mumbled.

"Sorry? For what? For loving your sister?" Marie shook her head. "I've had to leave friends behind before. But I can't even imagine what it must have been like to be suddenly cut off from someone you care about so much. That had to hurt."

Anna took one last look out across the waters of the fjord. "Yeah," she admitted, "it did." Then she spun around and hopped down to land on the boot-worn stones next to Marie. "But you know what? For some reason, it doesn't seem quite so bad these days." Her face broke into a broad grin as she grabbed the other girl by the hand and took off running for the stairs. The echoes of their mingled laughter rang clearly through the tower's imposing height.

• • •

"And how is Elsa, your Majesty?"

The queen made a show of examining the selection of dainties that Gerda somehow always seemed to keep ready for visitors to her kitchen. It bought her a little bit of time to gather her thoughts.

It wasn't that the queen did not want to discuss the subject with her friend. In fact, she had come to Gerda many times during the past year when she needed someone to confide in about the situation. She always took great care not to bring up the cause of Elsa's troubles, of course. And Gerda was a perceptive enough woman to realize that it was a subject that the queen did not want to discuss. But she listened, and offered what advice she could.

Finally abandoning her feigned interest in the sweets, the queen turned to her confidante, crossed her arms, and sighed. "Cold," she answered. "That distance is back between us again. She's polite, she answers when I talk to her. But when I look into her eyes... There's no light there, no connection."

Gerda nodded in sympathy. "Sometimes, when you hurt enough, you come to believe that the only way to stop the pain is to stop feeling anything at all." The queen's arms tightened across her chest, and her eyes dropped to focus on a spot on the floor halfway between the two women. Her husband's constant advice to their daughter rang in her ears. _Conceal, don't feel._ Were they really doing what was best for their daughter? Or only making matters worse?

"At least she doesn't seem to be so on edge now," she spoke at last. "For a while, it felt like she was always on the brink of tears. So I guess she's found a sort of peace for herself. Maybe I should be thankful for that." She paused, hearing aloud for the first time the rationalizations that she so often recited to herself. Now that they were out in the air, though, they really seemed quite foolish.

A prickling at the back of her neck made her suddenly look up again. Gerda was standing transfixed, staring at a point just past the queen's shoulder. Perplexed, she turned to follow the kitchen mistress' gaze.

"Good morning, Mother. Gerda."

Queen Ellinor's eyes grew wide. Her mouth fell open, and her hand fluttered to her chest. There in the doorway, gloved hands clasped modestly in front of her, stood Princess Elsa.


	8. Courage of the Fearful

**Author's Note:**

**I know it sounds corny, but I've never been so deeply moved by a movie as I was by Frozen. I desperately wanted more of Anna and Elsa. Soon, I found myself exploring the online fan fiction community for the first time. And I read some truly amazing and beautiful stories.**

**I've never written fanfic before, but I suddenly felt the desire to add my own contribution, however small, to the Frozen universe. Still, I didn't want to retread ground that had already been covered by other more experienced writers. And I didn't want to tell an AU; I wanted my first story to be about the two actual sisters I'd fallen in love with.**

**Most of all, though, I wanted it to be special. I wanted it to be worthy of the place that this movie and these characters had taken up in my heart. I don't know if I'm succeeding in that goal. But I'll continue to try.**

* * *

It had started with the gloves. When her father had first given them to her, Elsa had resented them bitterly. In her mind, they represented her failure to control her abilities on her own. And the fact that the gloves actually seemed to help only made things worse. It made her afraid to take them off, for fear that she might lose control again without them. And that, in turn, only reinforced her feelings of inadequacy.

Ever mindful of being a perfect little princess, however, Elsa did her best to conceal her bitterness during the time she spent with her parents. But she knew that she would not be able to construct a convincing mask of happiness to hide behind. So the best she was able to do was to close down on her feelings entirely. She could tell that her mother at least felt the return of the emotional distance between them. She could see in the queen's eyes that it pained her, after the brief period of time when it seemed they had been reconnecting, at least a little. It hurt Elsa too, but she didn't know what else to do.

And so time passed, as it tends to do. Elsa continued wearing the gloves, day in and day out. She wore them during her lessons. She wore them when she went to bed. She took them off only to wash, and hurried to pull them back on as soon as she was done.

That was how, one day, she came to a startling revelation. It was the sense of palpable relief she felt when she pulled the gloves back on after completing her ablutions. As the fine fabric slid over her fingers, she felt her entire body relax. She hadn't even realized how tense her muscles had been prior to that moment. Somehow, some when, without even noticing it, she had let her resentment of the gloves slip away. And instead, she now found just their physical presence oddly comforting. She couldn't understand why, but they made her feel just a little bit safer.

The best explanation she'd been able to come up with at the time was that they put just that little extra bit of distance between her and the rest of the world. It was as if they were a manifestation of the emotional barriers she'd been struggling to maintain for over a year. In a way, she thought, they were sort of like a door. But a door that she didn't have to leave behind. One that would stay with her, even if she...

Even if she left her room?

The thought had terrified her. At first. She pushed it out of her mind as the height of foolishness. It was too dangerous, too risky. Of course, it would never work. And yet the idea kept slipping back in whenever she let her thoughts wander. During the day, she did her best to silence it by burying herself in her books and studies. But when she crawled into bed at night, lying there with nothing to actively distract her, that one idea would be there, waiting.

Could she really do it? Now that she had the gloves, could she actually leave her room, her prison? Not every day, surely. Maybe not even that often. But just... sometimes? Slowly, inexorably, the fear that had initially accompanied such thoughts was replaced by wariness, then curiosity. And soon enough, thoughts of attempting such an escape brought forth a bubbling excitement within her.

Only one thing curbed that excitement. Anna. Elsa knew that she was not yet ready to come face to face with her little sister. Whatever boost in confidence the gloves might have given her, she felt certain it would not be enough for her to cope with the emotional avalanche that would accompany such an encounter.

If she was going to do this, it would require thought and care and planning. For she could only do it if she could guarantee that Anna would never know.

• • •

From her window, Elsa watched Anna and Marie run off through the grounds towards the main watch tower. Judging by how often she'd seen them disappear in that direction, it was apparently one of their favorite haunts. And she also knew that, if their past behavior was any indication, they would be away from the palace proper for at least an hour or two.

She drew a deep breath, held it. So, this was it then. The best chance she was likely to get. She'd been secreting away every ounce of her courage for weeks in anticipation of this moment. Now it was finally here. She had to act, and act quickly, before she could think about what she was purposing to do. Before she could talk herself out of it.

Hopping off the bench beneath her window, Elsa turned to face the door and stared at it for a heartbeat. Or two. Then, she finally blew out the breath she had been holding and marched across the room. She grabbed the doorknob. Turned it. Forced herself to open the door calmly, fighting against the instinct to fling it aside as though it might bite her. Then, she stepped forward.

It nearly drove her to her knees. The instant Elsa stepped across the threshold, a painful tightness constricted her chest. Her heart began pounding against her ribcage, and rivulets of cold sweat started running down her back. Gasping, she leaned against the wall for support. And the wall immediately began to glaze over with ice.

"No, not again," she whimpered. She closed her eyes and tried to gain control over herself through sheer force of will. Tried to push down the panic that was welling up in her chest and threatening to drown her. Struggling to focus, she clenched her hands into hard little fists. As she did so, she felt the fabric of her gloves stretch tight across her knuckles. And there it was again. That oddly soothing, comforting sensation.

Blinking, she looked down at her hands. She flexed her fingers inside the gloves. Straightening them. Curling them tight again. Over and over. Feeling the pull and give of the fabric against the back of her hands. It felt strangely familiar. She struggled to place the feeling, to recall what it reminded her of. Then it suddenly hit her.

Walking with her mother to the library, hand-in-hand, eager to pull down a favorite book from the shelves, crawl up into the queen's lap, and lose herself in the melodious sound of a beautiful voice reading verse.

A terrifying night when she'd been five years old. Lying in bed, aching all over, half delirious with fever. Mother, sitting by her bedside, holding her hand, gently stroking the back of it with her thumb.

A day in summer. Sitting in her room, at her desk. Wracking her brain trying to make sense of the problem on the page before her. The long minutes ticking by as she stared at the paper, jotted down numbers, crossed them out. And then, the eureka moment, when it had all suddenly made sense. The elation and relief when she had written out the final line of the answer and known without question that it was correct.

And her mother's hand, reaching across the table to squeeze her own.

It was another full minute before Elsa realized that her heart was no longer racing. That she was breathing normally again. And that the wall against which she was still leaning betrayed no sign of frost.

She straightened, if a little shakily, and drew back her shoulders. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she began to walk. Slowly at first, still a little uncertain. But she set her jaw and continued. Each step came with a little more confidence than the one before. Soon, she had reached the end of the hallway. Then the stairwell. Then the landing. And the ground floor.

Elsa paused at the bottom of the stairs, unsure what to do next. When she had opened her door, she hadn't had any particular destination in mind. If she were being honest with herself, she had never expected to get anywhere near this far on her first attempt. Now, however, she knew that there was someone she had to see. The only problem was, Elsa had no idea where her mother might be at this time of day.

Gerda. If anybody would know where her mother was, it would be Gerda. And when you needed to find Gerda, you rarely had to look too far beyond the kitchens. Besides, it would be nice to see the kindly kitchen woman again.

So Elsa set off once more, now with purpose behind her steps. She didn't have far to go. Down one hallway, turn, down another. And there it was, at the far end of the corridor. She paused for a moment to compose herself. Only then did she look down and realize that her hands were once again clenching and unclenching themselves inside her gloves. Feeling inexplicably embarrassed by this nervous tick, she clasped them together in front of her, took another deep breath, and then set off again on last leg of her short journey.

As she proceeded down the hallway, however, she realized that there were voices drifting out of the kitchen. At first, she couldn't make them out clearly. But as she drew nearer, the words became clear.

"...she's found a sort of peace for herself. Maybe I should be thankful for that."

When she recognized the voice, only momentum carried Elsa the last few paces. She stood in the doorway, suddenly uncertain again. She hadn't been expecting to find her here, hadn't yet worked out what it was she wanted to say...

Gerda saw her first. The woman's eyes grew wide with shock. A few uncomfortable seconds passed between them before the room's other occupant looked up, saw Gerda's face, and turned towards the entrance.

"Good morning, Mother. Gerda."

Inwardly, Elsa winced. All the things she suddenly found herself wanting to say to her mother, and the first thing her mouth chose was that? But then, the expression on the queen's features at that moment seemed to indicate that she had found it to be more than enough.

"Elsa," her mother breathed. The two stood there, just looking at each other as the seconds (minutes? hours?) ticked slowly by. The queen moved first. A smile broke across her face, tears spilled down her cheeks. She opened her arms wide and took two long strides toward her daughter. Then she suddenly brought herself up short, her smile fading somewhat as doubt entered her eyes. "I... I'm sorry, sweetheart. I almost forgot that... that you don't like to be..." She pulled her arms back in toward her sides, clasping her hands nervously together before her breastbone.

Now it was Elsa's turn to step forward, closing the distance that remained between them. She reached up and took each of her mother's hands in one her own. As she lowered them slowly, she began rubbing her gloved thumbs gently over the backs of those hands. She heard her mother's breath catch, and felt a lump form in her own throat. Unable to speak, and suddenly unsure what she would say even if she could, she just looked up into her mother's face and smiled.

How long they shared that silent communion, neither one could say. But it was finally broken by the sound of a choked sob. They both turned to see Gerda, still standing in the same spot she'd occupied since Elsa's arrival, but now dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. The queen hiccuped a laugh while Elsa's grin broadened. Freeing her right hand, she offered it to Gerda. Half crying, half chuckling, the other woman came and knelt down in front of the princess, gripping the small gloved hand in both of her own.

• • •

Mother and daughter retired to the more comfortable parlor, where they sat side by side on the settee. There, with many awkward pauses and no few tears from them both, Elsa slowly put into words what she herself had only just begun to realize about everything her gloves had come to mean to her. And in so doing, she also laid bare just how much her mother's love meant to her as well. How it had been that love that, ultimately, had given her the courage to finally step outside her room again.

For her part, the queen mostly just listened, afraid to interrupt her daughter lest Elsa find it impossible to start again.

But she held Elsa's hand the entire time.

Finally, the young princess fell silent, and she stared down at the floor. She sniffled once or twice, but didn't bother to scrub the tears from her cheeks. Her mother, already overwhelmed by this sudden outpouring from her eldest child, was more than content to wait now, to give Elsa however long she needed. There was no need to push. There was time.

Presently, without lifting her eyes, Elsa spoke once again. And the queen was startled by how grown up her little girl's voice suddenly sounded. "I need you to understand, Mother. What happened today? This wasn't the end. The end of my... whatever it is. But it might be the beginning of whatever comes next. I don't know that I can bring myself to come out like this again too often just yet. I can already feel the panic starting to creep up again inside. But it's a start. It's further than I was yesterday. And as long as you don't give up on me... maybe I can not give up on me too."

The queen's arms ached with the need to hold her daughter, to pull her close and never let her go. But knowing that Elsa wasn't ready for that yet, she did the best that she could. She slipped off the couch and knelt on the floor, positioning herself directly in her daughter's line of sight. She took both of Elsa's hands, enfolding them in her own. Their eyes met, and through that look, the queen tried to transfer to her daughter every ounce of courage she possessed. Then, fighting to keep her voice solid and strong, the queen vowed, "I will _never_ give up on you."

Elsa visibly swallowed, nodded. Then, feeling a little overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy, she glanced away towards the window, blinking furiously against the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks once again. Then her eyes grew wide and she sprang to her feet.

"Elsa, dear! What's wrong?"

"I didn't realize it was so late. I... I need to get back," Elsa stammered.

"Oh. Well, if that's... Whatever you need, dear."

"Thank you, Mother. For everything." She turned and began to hurry towards the door. But before she had even made it halfway across the room, she stopped and looked back. "Mother, I need you to promise me something."

"Of course, Elsa. What is it?"

"Please, mother. Promise me you won't tell Anna. She can't know about... about today."

"But dear..."

"She just can't! _I_ can't!" Elsa hugged herself, running her hands up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill. "I can't face her. Not yet. Mother, please."

The queen looked searchingly at her daughter. Finally, reluctantly, she nodded.

"And Gerda. Make sure she doesn't tell either."

"I will. I promise."

Elsa gifted her mother with a small, grateful smile before she turned again and half walked, half ran out of the parlor. She took the shortest path she could think of back to her room, as she felt the anxiety beginning to claw at her chest. How long had it been since she'd seen Anna leaving the castle? Might she be back already? She dreaded turning each corner, sure her sister would be standing there waiting. With every step, she feared that she would hear Anna's voice calling out her name.

It seemed like an eternity before she finally caught sight of the royal blue rosemaling on her bedroom door. She sprinted the last few steps, dashed inside and slammed the door behind her. She was breathing heavily now, and not just from her sudden flight. Nervelessly, she slid down the door and dropped heavily onto the floor.

She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. She was terrified. But she was elated. Because she had done it! Surprising even herself, she had done it.

And if she'd done it once, she could do it again.


	9. Childish Things

"It snowed! It's snowing!"

Anna gazed rapturously out her bedroom window at the magical world to which she'd just awoken. Everything she could see was covered in a crisp layer of pristine white. It blanketed the tree branches, while beards of crystalline icicles dangled underneath. The water had frozen in the basins beneath the fountains, turning them to rippled glass. The ornamental bushes and tasteful decorations scattered throughout the gardens were now only bumps in an unbroken blanket of snow.

And the first rays of the morning sun turned the entire world shades of pink and violet.

The princess positively squealed with delight as she turned and raced out of her bedroom. Her feet couldn't seem to decide whether to run, skip, or dance through the palace halls. (This perhaps explained the suit of armor that ended in pieces on the floor at the first corner she encountered.) She stopped at nearly every window to look out and drink in the view. Arendelle seemed to have been transformed overnight, and she couldn't wait to go exploring!

"It snowed! It's snowing!" She couldn't contain her excitement. As she ran through the halls, she felt that she simply had to proclaim her joy to the world, or else she thought she might burst.

For some reason, Anna had always loved the snow. Some of her fondest memories were of playing outside in the depths of winter. Sled riding, which was particularly exciting down the steep slopes of the Arendelle foothills. Snowball fights, or in some cases all out wars fought from behind makeshift forts. Ice skating. Well, OK, she couldn't really skate. Like, at all. But she even loved just watching others skate.

But the thing that she loved doing most of all in the snow was...

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

"Hey, Elsa! It snowed! It's snowing! Do you want to build a snowman?" She cocked her ear towards the door, ever hopeful that this might finally be the time when she'd hear her sister's voice in reply. "C'mon, it'll be great! Just like we used to, remember?" She was just about to knock again when she heard a voice call her name.

"Princess Anna!"

She turned and looked down the corridor. "Kai!" she cried back, and hurried over to the steward. "Kai, did you see? It snowed! It's snowing!" Anna was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet in her excitement.

"Yes, Princess Anna," Kai replied with his typical dry humor. "I'm fairly certain that the entire castle is aware of the weather this morning. It seems someone has been proclaiming the news quite loudly for the past quarter hour." Anna only grinned.

"Fortunately, that at least made it easier to find you, once I discovered that you weren't in your room," the steward continued. "I've been sent to inform you that you have a visitor waiting in the sitting room."

"Marie!" Anna exclaimed. "Oh, thank you, Kai!" She stretched up on her tiptoes, and Kai obligingly bent lower, allowing her to plant a grateful kiss on his cheek. "Oh, this is going to be so _great!_"

Minutes later, she burst into the sitting room to find her friend warming herself by the fire, her heavy winter coat stretched out on the hearth to dry. Before Anna could say a word, however, Marie turned to look at her, an impish smile spreading across her face.

"Anna," she declared jubilantly. "It's snowing!"

"I know!" The two girls beamed at each other for a moment, before Anna finally asked, "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go."

"Outside?" Marie replied, a bemused smirk on her face.

"Of course! What else?"

Her friend didn't respond with words, instead just looking Anna up and down once, smirk still firmly planted on her lips.

Anna finally looked down and realized the source of Marie's amusement. She was still wearing her nightdress. In her excitement this morning, she'd run out of her room without even bothering to change.

"Oh," she said.

"Oh," Marie agreed, nodding.

Rolling her eyes, Anna glared at the other girl. "Well, if it bothers you that much, then I suppose I'll go get dressed first."

"Good idea," Marie nodded again. "Should I wait for you here, or in the entrance hall?"

"Don't be silly. Just grab your coat and come along with me." Anna was nearly out the door before she realized that Marie hadn't moved. Turning, she looked at her friend. "What's the matter?" Then it hit her.

"I've never invited you up to my room before, have I?" When Marie shook her head, Anna laughed. "Well, I wasn't trying to hide it or anything. There've just been so many more interesting things to show you. Plus, we spent so much time outside while the weather was nicer. Come on, you've already seen most of the rest of the castle. What's one more room?"

Grinning, Marie scooped her coat off the floor and ran out the door, side-by-side with Anna.

• • •

"Hey, Elsa! It snowed! It's snowing!"

Elsa stared at the book in front of her without really seeing it.

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

She closed her eyes and tried to simply clear her mind.

"C'mon, it'll be great! Just like we used to, remember?"

It wasn't working.

But it was different this time. Elsa was startled to discover that her heart wasn't racing. Her breathing remained calm. And the images that came to mind weren't the same fearful specters that had haunted her a year ago.

Instead, she remembered her and Anna, rolling snowballs almost as big as they were themselves across the snow-covered floor of the ballroom. She remembered puppeteering two stick arms (how on earth she'd managed to come across twigs in the middle of the ballroom, she could not now remember), just to make Anna laugh. Skating round and around in circles until they both fell over in dizzy giggles.

And earlier memories. Playing outside in the real winter snows. Making snow angels all across the palace grounds. Digging tunnels under the deep drifts that piled high against the castle walls. Fencing each other with the huge icicles that grew off the fountains.

Elsa found herself smiling warmly as the images drifted through her head. "Yes, Anna," she whispered quietly to herself. "I'd love to build a snowman."

But then she heard another voice filtering in faintly from the hall. It was Kai, calling to her sister. She heard Anna call back, heard her practically skip away down the corridor. And the moment slipped away.

Elsa looked back down at her book. Grimacing, she closed it with a snap. No, there was no way she was going to be able to focus on it again now. The thoughts of the grand ballroom's echoing grandeur, of the expansive gardens covered in white, suddenly made the four walls of her room feel as though they were closing in on her.

She needed to get out again. And this weather provided the perfect opportunity. There was no way Anna would stay inside today. She would be outside for hours.

"Marie!" Anna's exclamation reached her all the way from the end of the passage. Alright, so she'd probably be outside all day. Elsa would just need to wait a little bit longer until she was sure her sister had left the palace. Then, she could slip out of her room unnoticed and... do what?

Her first thought was of her mother. But no, the queen had told her at the end of lessons yesterday that she and father would be gone for most of the day. Inspecting something or other in the village. Truthfully, she hadn't quite paid attention to all the details, since her brain had still been buzzing with all the names and dates that had been crammed into it during her history lesson..

Oh well. She could visit her favorite room in the castle, the library. But if all she wanted to do was read, she had plenty of books here in her room. Her mother always saw to that. No, she just didn't feel like reading today.

Go admire the beautiful paintings hanging in the gallery? She hadn't seen them in so long, after all. Visit Gerda? Hmm, perhaps. Finally, in the end, she decided to take a page from her sister's book for once. No more thinking. No more planning. She would simply step out the door and then make it up as she went.

She waited by her window, looking out in hopes of spying her sister. Of course, she told herself, there were many ways out of the palace and onto the grounds. And there was no way of knowing where Anna would decide she wanted to play first. If Elsa didn't see her sister soon, she would either have to take her chances or give up on her plans entirely.

But Elsa was fortunate. Perhaps ten minutes had passed before she saw Anna and Marie come running around the corner, stooping to scoop up handfuls of snow as they went, flinging the packed projectiles at one another, and laughing fit to burst.

Nodding once to herself, Elsa turned, walked swiftly across the room and slipped out of her door. So she did not see Anna stop in the middle of the garden and gaze up wistfully at her sister's window. Nor did she see the well aimed snowball that smacked Anna solidly upside her head, as payment for her momentary distraction.

• • •

Elsa soon realized that she really didn't need a destination. Simply strolling through the palace was enjoyment enough in and of itself. Once or twice, she would hear someone approaching along a side corridor. Then she'd quickly duck into an empty room or other convenient hiding place (she knew plenty of good ones from countless games of Hide-from-Nanny).

She hid for two reasons. First, she hoped to keep her occasional forays outside her room a secret for as long as possible. But second, she simply savored the sense of having the castle all to herself. With the reduced staff, there were fewer people about to begin with. And the cold weather seemed to have convinced most of them to spend the day near a warm hearth.

Elsa didn't mind the cold. And she found the silence soothing. The heavy snow seemed to muffle all sounds, and that was fine by her. The peaceful quiet made it easier to let her mind wander down passageways of its own, recalling all the little moments from her childhood that had happened in this room or by that window. Hall by hall, floor by floor, she revisited her home and her past.

Here was where she and Anna had first come up with their own private clapping game. _Up or down together, princess crown together. Always be together..._ And this was the room where the two girls had spent an afternoon playing dress up after mother had shown them a trunk full of old clothes that she had worn as a girl. Over there was where they'd gotten into so much trouble when father had caught them sword fighting with fireplace pokers. And this was...

Elsa stopped dead in her tracks. Fear and fondness, curiosity and caution warred within her mind and across her features.

This was the room she and Anna had shared for nearly five years.

She stared at the closed door, torn. Dare she go in? Did she have the right? Did she have the strength? She stood motionless in the hallway for a full minute, uncertain. Then finally, she reached out, turned the door handle, and slipped inside.

A panoply of emotions filled her chest as she gazed about the familiar room. And it was so very familiar, for it did not appear to have changed since she'd last been in here. What had been her half of the room was still empty, bare of furnishings or clutter. As if the room was simply waiting for its missing occupant to return from a holiday.

Silently, almost reverently, Elsa stole over to Anna's bed. There was the familiar pink quilt. The flowery rosemaling on the canopy. It was so perfectly Anna.

And oh, there were so many memories here. It felt like there were more in this one room than in the entire rest of the palace combined. Playing together with Elsa's dollhouse – it had been right over there in the corner by the window. The two of them in front of the mirror as Elsa taught Anna how to braid her hair. All the nights when they should have been sleeping, but instead lay awake making up stories for each other and dreaming about all the things they would do when they grew up.

A splash of color at the edge of her vision caused Elsa to turn. Something on Anna's small nightstand had caught her eye. As she moved closer, she realized that it was actually two somethings. There lay her sister's favorite dolls. The blonde one with the blue dress rested on the corner nearest the bed. On the other end of the table, lying face down…

She picked up the little redheaded doll and turned it over. Her eyes took in the pale green dress, the detailing around the hem picked out in rose and a darker shade of forest green. The orange hair had been shaped into pigtail braids on either side of its head. The faintest hint of freckles tinted its cheeks. The resemblance to Anna was so strong, it was uncanny. It was painful.

Elsa clutched the doll tightly to her chest as tears began to leak down her cheeks. Some were tears of joy at memories of the happiest times of her life. Others were tears of grief at the cruel fate that had separated her from her dearest friend. She wiped them both off with the back of her sleeve. She was so tired of crying. So tired of losing control. She needed to leave this room before it overwhelmed her.

She had actually reached the door before she realized that she still had the doll cradled possessively in her arms. She stared down at it, wavering. It would be so wonderful to have a little bit of Anna with her in her room. A memento of all the fun that they had once shared. But Anna would surely miss it if it suddenly disappeared. And when nobody knew where it had gone, would she put the pieces together? Would she conclude that Elsa must have come into her room and taken it? Surely Anna wouldn't begrudge it of her. But then she would know about Elsa's excursions. And Elsa was still not ready to face that, not yet. She couldn't take that chance.

Reluctantly, she retraced her steps and ever so gently placed the doll back on the bedside table. Then, resisting the urge to bolt, she turned and walked quickly out of the room, closing the door silently behind her.

The thought of continuing her tour of the castle no longer seemed to hold much appeal, however. So she once again turned her feet towards her own door and began the long walk back into hiding.

• • •

Anna burst through the doors of her bedroom, Marie not two steps behind. Both girls were cold, wet, exhausted… and jubilant. What a day! The snowball fight alone had lasted an hour! Then they had taken turns pushing each other across the frozen duck pond, slipping and sliding uncontrollably. And not one, not two, but three snowmen! One each for Anna and Marie, but then Anna had insisted on making one more. The biggest of the lot. And she'd chosen the spot for it very carefully, making sure it would be clearly visible from her sister's window. She hoped it might bring a smile to Elsa's face.

The young princess let her cloak fall to the ground as she kicked off her boots, then hopped up onto her bed to pull off her sodden socks. As she flipped them both through the air to land with a squelchy splat on the floor, she glanced over at her nightstand, and a curious expression formed on her face. "Marie?" she asked.

"Yeah?" the other girl replied from the far side of the room, where she was sitting on the floor and still struggling to pull off her boots.

"Remember when I was showing you my dolls before we went outside?"

"Uh huh." With a grunt, she got one foot free.

"Do you remember where you set the redheaded one down when you finished looking at it?"

"Yep, on the table by your bed."

"Yeah, no. I mean where on the table did you set it?"

Marie rolled her eyes. "I don't know. Does it matter?"

"No, I guess not," Anna replied in a distracted voice. Perhaps it was just her imagination. Or maybe she was just misremembering.

But she could have sworn that when she had left her room, the two dolls had not been lying together, side by side, looking for all the world as if they were holding hands.


	10. Still Waters

**Author's Note:**

**Don't get too used to daily updates. I specifically carved out this weekend to dedicate to writing, because this story really has its hooks in me. But that pace certainly won't survive the return of the work week.  
**

**That said, work on Chapter 11 is already underway...**

**P.S. Research can be fun! After you read this chapter, you might want to look up the Wikipedia entry for "Volo (barque)". I think you'll understand why when you do.**

* * *

"Well, that was certainly disappointing."

Anna dropped heavily to the floor before Elsa's door, an irritable pout on her face. "And I'd been looking forward to this for so long, too.

"I mean after all, I can't even remember the last time Papa actually let me leave the castle!"

• • •

Anticipation had been building in the palace, and indeed throughout the surrounding village, for months. And it was small wonder. The sea was the heart and soul of Arendelle. So many of its people made their living on the ocean, or working the docks, or trading in goods carried by the many ships of the merchant marine that went into and out of the harbor every day. So the news of a brand new three-masted barque nearing completion in the shipyards was the cause for a great deal of excitement all around.

When it was announced that the ship would put to sea for its maiden voyage on the fifth of March, the fervor reached new heights. Without any kind of proclamation or formal plan of any sort, the entire town began to prepare a celebration. There would be food and drink, music and dancing. And of course, the christening ceremony just before the ship set sail. The king himself was expected to do the honors!

Given that her father was the dock master, Marie was naturally well informed about all the juiciest details. She'd even caught a glimpse of the new ship in its dry dock one day when she'd tagged along with her father.

"Oh, it's beautiful, Anna! Even without the rigging or the canvas in place yet. I can't wait to see it sailing in open waters." She leaned conspiratorially close to Anna. "My father is good friends with the ship's captain. And he's hinted that he might be able to talk him into letting us tag along on that first trip. Mind you, it'll only be a short jaunt up the coast and back, just to make sure everything's shipshape. But still!"

Anna did her best to hide her jealousy as she smiled at her friend. "That sounds amazing, Marie! I've always loved the tall ships. I could just watch them for hours. But then, you would know, wouldn't you. I mean, you've watched them with me! For... hours." She laughed, a little embarrassed at herself, before admitting, "Oh, I wish I could go with you."

"Well, why don't you? If the ship's captain will let father and me tag along, I don't think he would refuse to let a princess come too, if she wanted."

Her smile fading, Anna replied, "I don't think Papa would let me. Well, you've seen how he is. Ever since we closed the gates, he hardly lets anyone in. I still can't believe he lets you visit all the time! And I'm sure you've noticed how you always come to the castle, but I've never been out to visit you at your house. Don't think I haven't asked to. But Papa..." Anna's shoulders shrugged, then slumped.

Marie considered her friend's predicament for a moment. "Well," she said at last, "it still couldn't hurt to ask. If you think it might help, I could have my father talk to the King and..."

"Oh, no!" Anna shook her head vehemently. "No, I couldn't ask you or your father to do that for me. But I will ask Papa myself. It is a special occasion, after all. Maybe..."

• • •

"No, I don't think that would be wise," the king declared.

"But Papa!" Anna tried not to whine, and was mostly successful. "I haven't been out of the castle for a year and a half. Elsa won't even speak to me. You never let any of my old friends come and visit. If it wasn't for Marie, I'd probably be going crazy. And worst of all, you'll never even tell me why!"

Her father looked up from the paperwork spread across the writing desk in his study and met his daughter's gaze. His features, which had been furrowed in concentration a moment earlier, softened when he saw the look on his daughter's face. Setting down the pages he'd been holding, he stood and came out from behind the desk. He walked over to one of the more comfortable chairs set out for guests, sat down, and patted his knee in an invitation for Anna to join him.

Anna hesitated for a second. She thought she had built up a nice bit of momentum with her chain of arguments. And the part of her that actually paid attention to her lessons felt that crawling up onto her father's lap would not exactly be negotiating from a position of strength. But he was still her father, not to mention the king. Defying him wasn't likely to help her case either. So she crossed the few steps to where he sat and hopped up onto his knee.

"Oof! When did you get so big?" her father asked with a smile. Anna didn't answer, but just looked at him expectantly. The king, seeing that his daughter was not going to be jollied out of this, became serious as well.

"Anna, I know this whole business has been hard on you. For that, I am truly sorry. And you must believe me when I say that I wish I could explain it all to you so that you could at least understand why it has to be this way. But I can't. I can't even tell you _why _I can't, except to say that I'm doing it to protect you and your sister."

The look of mingled confusion, sadness, and disappointment on Anna's face made the king's heart ache. She tried to hide her feelings by turning away from him. But he caught her chin and gently turned her to face him once again. "I love you, my little princess." And when he said it, it wasn't a title. "You know that, right?"

Anna nodded before quietly replying, "I love you too, Papa." Then she appeared to collect herself, sitting up a little straighter, eyes sharp and mouth drawn into a determined line. "And I'm not asking to be allowed out of the castle every day. Or even that often. Just this once. One day. You know I've always loved the big sailing ships. And it sounds like this one will be the finest to come out of Arendelle's shipyards since... well, since I was born! Everyone knows it, or else they wouldn't be planning such a grand celebration. Who knows how long it will be before another one like it comes along?"

She glanced away for a moment. And when she looked back, the plea in her eyes spoke louder than her words. "Please, Papa. Just the one day. I'll be good, I promise. I'll be on my best behavior, and I won't get in the way or anything. I... I just..."

The king was silent for what seemed like a very long time. But he was not considering his response. He'd already made up his mind. No, he simply found that he needed the time to swallow past the emotions that had lodged in his throat. He needed the time to make sure that his voice wouldn't waver. Even so, he coughed once before opening his mouth to speak.

"Very well, Anna. You may go."

Anna's face lit up like the sun itself. She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight, and kissed him hard on the cheek. "Thank you, Papa! Thank you, thank you, thank you! This is going to be incredible! Amazing! Oh, wait 'til I tell Marie!" She slid off his knee and practically danced to the door. But before she left, she turned back, curtsied, and silently mouthed two words:

"Thank you." And then she was out the door, green skirt whipping along behind her.

Really, the king thought to himself. How could I possibly say no to that?

• • •

Anna was unable to think about anything else after that. It was nearly all that she and Marie talked about. The same was true during her daily visits to Elsa's door. And she was completely useless during her lessons, to the point where her tutor finally just threw up his hands and declared that, for the last week before the launch, her schooling would simply be suspended.

Anna couldn't remember a week ever lasting so long.

But finally, the day came. Anna had agonized over what she should wear. She had briefly considered one of her finest, in honor of such a splendid occasion. However, such frilly things simply wouldn't be appropriate aboard ship. Her every day clothes, while more practical, seemed far too common for such a special day. Her anxiety over the decision was starting to overwhelm her excitement at the voyage itself when her mother had presented her with the solution to her dilemma.

And so it was that Anna walked out of the palace gates with her father that morning, wearing a newly tailored sea green dress. The cut was simple and straight. But the embroidered floral patterns around the collar and hem, picked out in gold and deep red thread, turned the simplicity into elegance. Well, as elegant as anything could be on Anna that day, given that she kept having to restrain herself from just sprinting down to the docks. Instead, she did her best to match the king's more regal pace. But she simply couldn't keep the bounce out of her step.

Crowds lined the street from the palace to the pier, just to watch and cheer the king and his escorts. Many a face broke into broad smiles as they spotted Anna, trying to look in every direction at once, and occasionally waving happily at all the unfamiliar strangers.

Eventually (though not quickly enough by half for the young princess), they stood at last before the majestic new vessel. It floated serenely on the water that had been let into the dry dock in preparation for its launch. Anna simply gaped. Marie's descriptions hadn't done it justice.

The rich wood of the hull had been stained two-tone brown. Below the rubrail, it was a rich mahogany color, not unlike her father's desk. But the top half was such a deep brown that it was very nearly purple. And across the stern, careful traceries had been added in shades of blue and green that evoked rolling waves. But they ended in bright yellow blossoms, which subtly transformed the waves into graceful stems and leaves.

The square sails on the three towering masts were furled while in port. But three staysails fluttered in the breeze between the fore-mast and the bowsprit. The metal brightwork glowed like fire under the morning sun. Anna didn't think she'd ever seen a ship as beautiful as this.

Movement drew her eye, and she saw Marie standing with her father on the deck of the boat, waving energetically at her. She turned to look up at her father, biting her lower lip and raising her eyebrows in an unspoken question. The king smiled down and nodded. Unable to restrain her excitement one moment longer, Anna took off like a shot. She was up the gangplank and embracing her friend in seconds.

The smile remained on the king's face as he made his way to the raised platform near the bow of the vessel. Climbing the few short steps, he turned to look out over the assemblage. A hush quickly fell as all eyes turned towards him.

"People of Arendelle!" His voice rang out crystal clear on the crisp air. "I think you all know by now that I am not particularly good at making long speeches. Which I consider to be fortunate, because I have also met few people who are particularly good at listening to them." Appreciative laughter ran through those gathered below. "So allow me to just say this. There are no finer shipwrights in the world than those we have here in Arendelle. No finer seamen than those we have here in Arendelle. And no finer ships than the one I stand before today. I am humbled by the skill of the craftsmen who came together to create this mighty work. And I – like all of you – am eager to see it set sail. Therefore..."

He turned to one of the other men behind him on the podium, who handed him the bottle of wine. "I name this ship _Voloe_, _and may she bring fair winds and good fortune to all who sail on her."_ With a well-practiced swing, he brought the bottle around and smashed it cleanly against the ship's bow. Mighty poles pushed the ship out of its berth and into the waters of the harbor. A raucous cheer went up from every throat present.

Anna couldn't have wiped the smile from her face had she tried. It was glorious! The sunlight danced off the water. The wind caught at her dress and her braids. And all around her, the sailors moved with rapid purpose, calling to each other as they prepared to unfurl the mighty sails and guide the ship out of the harbor, through the fjord, and into open waters.

And then, the tone on deck changed. It was so subtle at first that Anna might not have noticed it. But she happened to look up at Marie's father, Anton, and saw the look of concern on his face. Marie had picked up on her father's worry too. "What's wrong?" she asked as she scanned the deck from stem to stern, trying to spot what was amiss.

Anton held up one hand, requesting silence for a moment as he listened to the captain calling out to his men. When he turned to look down at the two girls, the look of worry was gone, but it had been replaced by one of resigned disappointment. "The ship isn't responding properly to the helm," he said. "It seems like something must have fouled the linkage to the rudder. It's nothing too serious, but it means that they're going to tow us back into the dock until they can figure out what went wrong."

Anna was crestfallen, but tried to remain hopeful. "But that shouldn't take long, should it? To fix, I mean. We'll still be able to head out to sea, won't we? We'll just be a little late, that's all."

Anton shrugged. "The captain and the ship's builders inspected her from stem to stern just a few days ago before she was declared ready to launch. Everything seemed fine then. So it's possible that the problem could be really obvious, like something that got tangled in the machinery since the inspection and just needs to be cleared out. Or it could be something so particular that it didn't show up in dry dock but only when we actually set sail. And that could take days to ferret out."

The princess's face fell. "I'm sorry, Anna," Anton said. "I know how much you were looking forward to this. But maybe we'll be lucky. Maybe you're right and we'll be back on our way before you know it!"

• • •

"We weren't. Lucky, that is. Or back on our way, for that matter." Anna leaned her head against the familiar wood of Elsa's door and closed her eyes. "We waited for an hour before they finally declared that the launch would have to be postponed until they could figure out what had gone wrong. And they don't know how long that will take." She sighed dejectedly. "So here I am, back in the palace, when I should have been out at sea."

In her mind's eye, she relived those first few wonderful moments after the ship had exited its berth. But in her imagination, the ship didn't stop. Instead, she saw the white canvas of the square sails drop into place. The wind caught them, billowing them outward. The mighty vessel glided smoothly between the two lighthouse towers that marked the entrance to the protected harbor. The captain called out orders, the sailors following them with speed and precision. And the _Voloe_ traced a graceful arc across the fjord, passing through the mouth of the bay and into the open waters beyond.

Maybe she would get another chance to make that voyage once the problem had been fixed. Marie's father had suggested just that to the king after he had escorted the two girls off the boat. But her father had not given any indication either way as to his opinion on the matter. And besides, Anna wasn't entirely sure herself that today's dashed hopes wouldn't taint a future trip.

Well, that was a worry for another day. Right now, she was feeling bad enough without imaging future disappointments. It was funny how a day that started off so magnificently could end like this.

Except that the day wasn't over yet.

Anna opened her eyes at the sound of a sharply indrawn breath. Tipping her head forward, she looked around for the source of the noise. She didn't have to look far. It was standing at the corner of the hallway, exactly where she had stood all those many months ago, the first time she had ever come to this room. Anna felt her heart leap into her throat. When she finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

"El- Elsa?"


	11. The Silence of Secrets

**Author's Note:**

**Chapter 10 was a bit of an anomaly for this story, having almost no sisterly interaction. Sorry about that. But it was necessary to get us here.**

**I thought this chapter was going to be a bear to write. I was so wrong! This one came together faster than just about any other. Anna in particular was completely ready for this moment.**

**Oh, and keep the tissues handy. The feels are back with a vengeance on this one...**

* * *

Elsa stood rooted to the spot, staring wide-eyed at the figure seated right in front of her bedroom door. Anna! But... Anna was supposed to be away until early that evening. Sailing down the coast with Marie on that new ship. It was all she'd been talking about for weeks! It was only her extended absence and that very real physical distance that had finally given Elsa the courage to leave her room again. And now, to find her here?

"El- Elsa?" Anna clambered to her feet, but did not move away from the door. There was no chance Elsa could slip past her and duck into her room, and it seemed as if Anna realized this. "Elsa, you're... you're out of your...? How... how long have you...? Why didn't you...?"

It was everything Elsa had dreaded. The look of pain and confusion and betrayal on Anna's face. The tears welling up in her sister's eyes. And all the questions that Elsa simply couldn't answer. She began to slowly back away.

"No! Don't you dare run away!" And in an instant, Anna's entire demeanor changed. The pain and betrayal suddenly combined to form a red hot anger. "It was bad enough that you shut me out for a year and a half. Didn't say a word to me that whole time."

And when it all came down to it, Elsa realized, that was the biggest obstacle between them. At least her parents knew the reason why everything had changed. But Anna didn't know. Anna couldn't be allowed to know. So how could Elsa possibly talk to her?

"It took me a long time, but I finally learned to live with that. Because I knew you were hurting, even though I didn't know why. And I wanted to help you, but I didn't know how."

Of course she didn't know. How could she? If Elsa ever gave her even one answer, she would only expect more. And sooner or later, one of those answers would be, _Because I have magical ice powers __that__ nearly killed you, and the fact that you don't remember __any of this__ is the only reason you're still alive._

"But that was OK. Because you're my sister. And I was willing to wait for as long as you needed me to. I came to this door every single day, just to let you know I was here for you!"

And Anna had no idea how much that had meant to her sister. Truthfully, Elsa wasn't sure she herself fully understood. Even though it sometimes pained her, reminded of what a horrible thing her powers had nearly done, Elsa didn't think she could have made it this long without Anna outside her door.

"I didn't need you to talk back, even though I missed your voice so much it hurt." Anna clutched her chest over her heart. "Just knowing you were there, on the other side of this door, listening to me. That was enough. It was all I had... so it was enough."

The tears were streaming down Anna's face by this point. Running all the way down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. But she either didn't notice or didn't care. Only then did Elsa realize that her own cheeks were still dry. The revelation shocked her, nearly sickened her.

"But now! To find out that I've just been talking to an empty room? How many times, Elsa? How long have you been out sneaking around the castle while I sat here pouring my heart out to thin air?"

Oh, no! Elsa shook her head, eyes growing even wider as she suddenly realized how this must seem to her sister. No, Anna. It's not like that.

"You must think I'm so stupid." Anna laughed, but it was like no laugh Elsa had ever heard from her sister before. "Well, I guess I am. Stupid to think that our friendship still meant as much to you as it does to me."

No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Elsa couldn't _let _this happen. She had to do something. Put aside her fear, just for a moment, and stop this before it went too far. Before she lost the most precious thing in the world to her.

"No, Anna."

Anna blinked. She stared at her sister, as if seeing her for the first time. And then, it came again. That uncharacteristically mirthless laugh, followed by a sniffle. Finally, in a quiet voice than was almost worse than her previous shouting, "The first word you say to me in over a year, and it's, 'No.'"

"Anna," Elsa pleaded. She took several steps towards her sister, hands held out imploringly in front of her. "Please, it's not like that. You don't understand."

"No, I don't!" Anna snapped back. "Of course I don't. You won't talk to me! Mama and Papa change the subject or make some excuse every time I try to ask them." Her lip began to tremble, and Elsa finally thought she saw a hint of the Anna that she knew. Hurting, yes. Deeply hurting. But at least this was her sister again.

"I hate all these secrets," Anna whimpered, hanging her head and wrapping her arms tightly across her chest. "They're killing our family. I feel like they're killing me."

Elsa had stopped just a foot or two away from Anna. Close enough that she could reach out and touch her. And so, with a trembling hand, she did.

But when Elsa's fingers gently brushed Anna's shoulder, the younger girl flinched and drew away. Elsa was shocked. In that one reflexive movement, she hadn't seen her baby sister. She'd seen herself.

"Anna..."

Anna shook her head. "No, Elsa. I don't want to feel better. I don't want someone to dry my tears and tell me everything will be alright. Not today." She had to swallow past the lump in her throat before she could continue. "I want answers. No matter how much they hurt. I need to know... something. Anything! I don't need everything. Not right now, not all at once. I've lived with secrets for this long. I think I can live with them a while longer."

Anna finally lifted her gaze again. And when her eyes met Elsa's, they bored straight into her heart. "But I need to know _something_."

Elsa pulled back her still outstretched arm, foldering her hands together in front of her stomach and wringing them nervously. Finally, she cleared her throat and nodded once.

"This is the first time you've ever talked to an empty room, Anna. I swear to you. This is only the third time I've worked up the courage to leave my room. The first time was only about four months ago. The second time, maybe two months back. Each time, I only did it when I knew – when I thought – you'd be out of the palace for a long time. That's the biggest reason why I haven't done it more often, and why it takes me so long to work up the courage each time. Because I've been afraid of running into you."

Elsa could see that this revelation had startled Anna. "Afraid? Of me? But Elsa, why? What did you think I'd do?"

"It isn't that, Anna. It's..." It's this. This exact conversation that scares me. There are things – secrets – that you can't know. That _no one _can know, really. But no one else matters. What matters is that I don't want to hurt you. But I'm stuck in a place where I can't see any way to not hurt you. I have to keep things hidden from you, to keep you safe. Just by being near you, I put you in danger. So I keep my silence and I keep my distance. And I know that hurts too. But I don't know what else to do.

Elsa ached to say those words out loud. Would that be so very wrong? To let Anna know that her big sister loved her? That all the things that Anna hated, everything she had just railed against... that it was all done out of that love? How could that possibly be a bad thing?

Because this was Anna. Who always put everybody else's well-being before her own. If Elsa confided even that little bit of truth to her, Anna wouldn't think twice about her own safety. She would redouble her efforts to break down the barriers, no matter the consequences. And if Elsa ever lost control again... Ever hurt Anna again because she let her get too close...

The thought tore a sob from her throat. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, and she had to look away from Anna's earnest gaze.

"It's a secret." Anna finished Elsa's sentence with that accurate but all too inadequate statement. Not knowing what else to say, Elsa just nodded.

The two girls stood there silently in the hallway for several long, uncomfortable minutes, not even looking at each other. Then Anna, without saying a word, turned and walked away down the hall. Walked away from the door. Walked away from Elsa.

It was all Elsa could do to simply slip inside her room again before she collapsed onto the floor in tears.

• • •

Elsa awoke late the next morning to the sound of someone gently knocking on her door. "Elsa?" It was her mother's voice. "May I come in?"

Elsa sat up, feeling every bit as miserable as she had the night before. At some point (she didn't clearly remember when), she had managed to lift herself off the floor and up onto her bed. Apparently, she'd fallen asleep there, atop the sheets and still in her day clothes. How very un-princess-like of her. But at the moment, she really didn't much care.

"Yes, Mother," she replied vaguely. She wasn't sure if she'd spoken loud enough for her voice to carry out into the hallway. But again, there was the not caring.

Apparently, the volume had been sufficient, because the handle turned and her door swung open. But the queen did not immediately enter. Instead, she simply poked her head inside and looked at her daughter. What she saw was like a blunt knife to her heart.

Elsa sat on the edge of her bed, which had clearly been slept on, but not in. Her dress, normally crisp and clean, was now rumbled and creased. But that was all superficial, no cause for undue concern. It was her eyes. They appeared sunken in Elsa's young face, and there was a haunted, distant look in them. She stared at nothing. And she didn't so much as twitch when the queen finally stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her.

Ellinor slowly walked over to Elsa's bed, then sat down quietly beside her daughter. She took care not to sit too close, not wanting to frighten the poor girl with an accidental touch. But for all the reaction Elsa gave, it appeared her mother needn't have worried.

"Elsa?" the queen prompted. "Elsa, sweetheart, what happened?" Still no answer. Now the queen was getting truly scared. She'd never seen Elsa act like this before. Break down into tears, yes. Recoil in fear. But never completely shut down. What could have done this to her little girl?

Nervously, absentmindedly, the queen began to wring the object she held in her hands. For some reason, this seemed to draw Elsa's attention. She turned her head and stared at her mother's hands, her eyes growing wider and wider.

"Where did you get that?" Elsa demanded to know, her voice raspy from a long night of tears.

"Hmm?" The queen looked down at her hands. "Oh yes, that. Well, I think it was meant for you, actually. I found it propped up against your door when I got here." She held the small item out to her daughter with an encouraging half smile.

Elsa stared at it for a moment longer. Then she reached out and lifted it gingerly from her mother's hand. Holding it in both of her own, she continued to just stare at it, a look of incomprehension on her face.

Unsure what to do, the queen finally stood up. "I think perhaps it would be best if we skipped your lessons today. It looks like maybe you could use some time to yourself." She turned towards the door. But before she took a single step, Elsa's voice stopped her.

"No, Mama. Please... Please don't go. Just... sit with me?"

The queen turned back and saw that Elsa was still staring fixedly at the object in her hands. But her face had been transformed. Though there were now fresh tears streaking her cheeks, there was a light again in her eyes. A smile played around the corners of her lips.

"Of course, sweetheart." She sat back down on the bed, once again careful to give her daughter her usual comfort zone. So she almost jumped when Elsa leaned over and laid her head against her mother's shoulder. The queen, unsure how to respond, finally lifted her hand slowly from where it had been resting on the bed. Tentatively, she brushed her fingertips over the top of Elsa's hair. Elsa's only response was to shift her position on the bed to snuggle even closer to her mother's chest.

And so, mother and daughter sat together on the edge of the bed. Ellinor gently stroked her daughter's hair. And Elsa just stared transfixed at the little red-haired doll she held in her hands.


	12. Door to Door

**A/N: I want to thank DarthPhoenixFire for the suggestion that inspired this chapter. It isn't _exactly_ what he had in mind, but I hope you all enjoy it.**

**[Edited on 2014-04-06 to correct the King's name.]**

* * *

Three weeks passed. Three weeks during which Elsa heard not a single word of her sister's voice. After quietly leaving her peace offering outside Elsa's door, Anna had not been back again since.

In truth, Elsa couldn't blame Anna. She had known that their separation had to be affecting her too. At least, she had known that in her head. But this was Anna! Happy, cheerful, careless and carefree Anna. Anna, who came to sit outside her door every day, rain or shine, and went on and on about the most frivolous of topics. Anna, who made friends as easily as most people made tea. Anna, who still had mother and father and the palace staff, after all.

But Elsa should have known better. She was the older sister; it was her responsibility to know better. The signs had been there. Anna's message in the snow. Her tearful gift giving on Midsummer's Eve. Even that snowman she had built outside Elsa's window. She had been reaching out to Elsa in every way the poor girl could think of. But Elsa had been too wrapped up in her own problems, her own feelings. She never stopped to think how much hurt Anna had to be hiding if even her normally boundless optimism couldn't completely conceal it.

And then came that terrible confrontation outside her door. After that, Elsa could no longer pretend that Anna wasn't devastated inside. It simply turned out that her baby sister was far better at concealing her feelings than Elsa had ever been. How ironic. Their father kept encouraging Elsa to, "Conceal. Don't feel. Don't let it show." And yet, while Elsa felt like she was forever losing control and giving in to tears, Anna had been burying her true feelings deeper than anybody suspected this entire time.

It was Anna's greatest strength, but also potentially her worst enemy: she always worried more about others than she did about herself. Was her happy smile just her way of making sure nobody felt the need to worry about her? Knowing that mother and father already had their hands full dealing with Elsa's troubles, was Anna just trying not to add to their burden?

That would be so like her. And having let her facade slip, of course Anna would want to hide from the one person who now knew her secret. Elsa knew that instinct only too well. She had far too much experience at hiding.

She wanted to reach out to her little sister. To somehow reassure her. To try to make things right again. Or at least a little bit less wrong. But she still couldn't figure out how to do that. She'd spent the past three weeks trying to figure it out, but with no real success. No matter what way she tried to come at the problem, there always seemed to be a roadblock in her way. It was beyond frustrating. It was...

Knock-knock-knock.

The sound jerked Elsa out of her introspection. Someone was at her door. Was it her mother? She had no lessons scheduled today, but sometimes the queen would stop by just to visit. So did her father, for that matter. But no, either of them would have announced themselves straight away. And nobody else ever visited except...

Elsa's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Had she finally come back at last? She turned to the door, face lit up with excitement and expectation.

"Um, Elsa?" The voice that spoke was clearly nervous and unsure.

But it was not her sister's.

"Er, you don't know me. That is, we've never met. But maybe Anna's told you about me? She's certainly told me lots about you. Including the fact that you don't say much. But that's okay. I don't mind doing the talking. That is, if _you _don't mind. Listening. Don't mind listening..."

The voice trailed off, uncertainly. Then, "Wow. I sounded just like Anna for a moment there, didn't I? I guess she's rubbed off on me. She has a way of doing that. But then, I'm sure you know that well enough without me telling you.

"Oh, gee, where are my manners? I'm standing here rambling and I still haven't introduced myself. I'm sorry. I'm not normally like this, really. I'm just... so nervous. I'm not really sure I should even be here. I mean, I've heard so much about you that I feel like I sort of know you already. But of course, you don't know me at all, and..." A sigh, then, "Yeah, I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

There was the sound of a deep, steadying breath being drawn, then slowly let out. "My name is Marie. I'm a friend of Anna's. Pleased to meet you."

• • •

Marie stood outside Elsa's door, feeling like a complete idiot. She'd spent days rehearsing this moment over and over again in her mind, trying to make sure she would remember everything she wanted to say. But as soon as she'd opened her mouth, it had all vanished. And then she'd just started spewing whatever nonsense came into her head, rather than stopping to collect her thoughts like any sensible person.

Then again, she wasn't entirely sure that a sensible person would be standing here in the first place.

Anna did not know she was here. No one did. Of course, nobody had ever said that she wasn't allowed to come here, exactly. But there was still a nagging part of her conscience which felt that by doing so, she was somehow betraying Anna's trust. To her friend, this door was almost sacred ground. Marie couldn't help but feel like she was trespassing.

And yet, she couldn't continue to sit by and watch Anna suffering like this.

Suddenly, she became uncomfortably aware that she'd been standing in the middle of the hallway, completely mute for a good minute at least. Self-consciously, she closed her eyes, cleared her throat and prayed that she could continue a little more intelligibly this time.

"Um, I'm here because... I'm really worried about Anna. And I don't know who else to talk to. I mean, it isn't like I can exactly ask her parents. They're the king and queen, after all. And I'm just... me! But more than that, I get the feeling that whatever is eating at Anna, it has something to do with you. Maybe not entirely," she hastened to add, hoping she hadn't already managed to scare Elsa off. "But... Well..." And another sigh. Struggling to regroup, she decided to just plunge in headfirst.

"I think it all started on the fifth. I don't know if you remember, but that was the day the _Voloe_ was supposed to be christened and take its maiden voyage. Anna was so excited. Well, I mean, this is Anna we're talking about. She's always excited. But when I say she was excited, I mean she was excited _for Anna!_ Which, frankly, was a little bit scary.

"And who could blame her? For one thing, she made it sound like this was the first time she'd left the castle in years! I couldn't believe that at first. But when I really thought about it, I realized that, in all the months I've known her, I've never seen her outside the castle grounds. Not once! And then on top of that, she was going to go to sea on the most beautiful sailing vessel! I'm sure you know how Anna adores the tall ships.

"But I think, more than anything, Anna was excited because she was actually doing something with her father. With the king, I mean. I don't think he spends very much time with her, and I'm not really sure the queen does either. It took me a long time to figure that out, because Anna talks about them all the time. But she only ever talks about how busy they are with their duties, their responsibilities. About the important people they meet and all the critical choices they make. I rarely hear her talk about actually doing something _with_ them. She's mentioned things that the four of you used to do together, as a family. Just... never anything new.

"So yeah, she was _really _excited. And then to have the whole thing scuttled when we'd barely made it out of the dock? Oh, I don't know if you know about that. Something went wrong with the steering, and they had to tow the ship back in and postpone the entire trip until they could figure it out. Well, Anna was crushed. You could see it in the way she just stared at her own feet the whole walk down the gangway.

"My father was with us. (He's friendly with the ship's captain, and he got us on board in the first place.) Anyway, when we reached dockside, the king was waiting there for Anna. And my father, as politely as he possibly could, suggested that perhaps Anna could come back once the problems had been sorted out and the ship was ready to set sail again. King Agdar responded politely enough, but he only said a single word: 'Perhaps.' When I looked at Anna, I could tell that it sounded like a 'No' to her too.

"Well, Anna started back toward the castle with the king, and my heart went out to her. But then, as if she knew what I was feeling, she looked back over her shoulder and smiled at me. And while I could see that she was still disappointed, the smile was genuine enough. She was letting me know that she'd be alright, and I believed her. So I didn't worry all that much just then."

Marie paused, surprised by how everything was suddenly pouring out of her like this. Nobody would ever have considered her shy by any measure. But she usually wasn't this talkative either. Apparently, she had more to say that even she herself had realized. And so she continued, before common sense got the better of her.

"I wasn't able to make it to the castle for a couple of days after that. But when I finally got the chance, I rushed up here to see Anna as quickly as I could. By this point, Kai and the rest of the staff don't even bother to announce me anymore. They just waved as I ran past, and I headed straight for Anna's room.

"The door was halfway open when I got there. I knocked to be polite, but walked right in. So I caught just a glimpse of Anna, sitting on her bed and staring out the window. There was an odd look on her face that I've come to know all too well. And I thought I saw her holding something in her lap, something blue I think. But as soon as she heard the knock, she tucked it out of sight under the covers. And when she turned around, she was smiling again, just like always."

Now came the hard part. Marie swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into a throat and mouth that had both gone quite dry. "If that had been the only thing, I probably wouldn't have thought anymore of it. But it wasn't. Oh, Anna tries to hide it, tries to act like her usual chipper self. But her smile is just a little too broad these days. Her laughter ends a bit too quickly, and the silences that follow... they last too long. I don't know if anybody else has noticed. And at first, I almost convinced myself that it was just my imagination. But there was one thing that told me beyond any doubt that something is eating Anna up inside. One thing that's impossible to ignore." Marie winced in anticipation of the words that had to come.

"She hasn't spoken one word about you in three weeks.

"I hope you realize how much she loves you, Elsa. Remember how I said she talks about your mother and father all the time? Well, the only person she talks about more is you. Part of me wants to be jealous of that, but I just can't. When I listen to Anna talk about you... Well, I don't have any brothers or sisters. And to be perfectly honest, I've never really felt like I was missing anything. But if I could have a sister like the one Anna describes when she talks about you..." Marie couldn't figure out how to finish that sentence. Fortunately, it seemed to say everything she meant it to anyway.

"I don't know what happened between the two of you. But this isn't just the usual melancholy she sometimes gets when she thinks about you. And like I said, Anna won't talk about it. I've tried to get her to open up. Tried to be coy, tried being direct. No matter what I do, she just pretends that she doesn't hear me. So I can't tell what it is she's feeling: sadness, anger, guilt... I just know that whatever she's feeling, she can't let go of it. Can't move past it. And she won't let anybody in to help her deal with it.

"Oh, maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I'm making too much out of nothing. I would dearly love to be wrong. It's why I waited this long before finally coming here. I really didn't want to get in the middle of something that might not even exist. For that matter, I didn't want to get in the middle of something that _might_ exist. I mean, who am I to try to put myself between the two of you? But I just can't believe I could be misreading Anna that badly. I keep seeing it every day, and it hurts every single time. If it makes me feel that bad, I can't even imagine what Anna must be going through. And I have absolutely no idea how to help her.

"Elsa, I'm pretty sure you're the only person who really knows what happened to Anna. And I know that, if you won't even talk to your sister, then I have no reason to think you'll talk to me. But I don't know who else to turn to. I have no idea where else to go. Please..." She heard her own voice crack, and swallowed painfully. She opened her mouth to continue, only to realize that she had finally run out of words.

So she just stood there, staring at Elsa's door as if she might find the answers to all her questions hidden in the geometric patterns painted on its face. She stood there, waiting for some sound, some sign that her words had been heard. That the one person who just might be able to help her friend actually still cared enough to try and do so.

And as the silence dragged on, she felt like it was going to suffocate her. It twisted in her gut, pooled in her throat, and rang in her ears – a physical presence as real and as impenetrable as the door before her. It felt like she was drowning under a sheet of ice.

Finally, Marie couldn't stand another second. "I'm sorry to have bothered you," she forced out through a choked sob. But at the exact same moment, a movement drew her eye downwards. A piece of parchment had just slid out from under the door. She looked back up at the door, then down at the floor again. Hesitantly, she bent down and ever so carefully picked up the unexpected delivery.

It had been somewhat hastily folded, and sealed rather crookedly with a blob of candle wax. But the one word written on the other side was strong and clear and unmistakable. _Anna._

It was a while before Marie was able to shake herself free of the spell the letter seemed to have placed upon her. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse with emotion. "Thank you. Thank you so much, Elsa. I'll take this to her right away. Oh, thank you. A thousand times, thank you."

She spun on her heels and was ready to race off down the corridor when the softest, faintest hint of a voice drifted to her from the other side of the door.

"Thank you. For caring for my sister..."

Marie felt a single tear roll down her cheek. She could feel the weight of words left unspoken. She wanted to say something to comfort the unseen girl, Anna's first and still best friend. Wanted to offer some words that might ease the hurt that she was clearly feeling too. But no such words came. And so, all she said was, "You're welcome."

Then she was gone, down the hallway, around the corner, and out of sight.

• • •

Elsa sat once again in an all too familiar spot: on the floor, back against her door, staring out the window. The vibrant colors of the setting sun spread across the sky, painting it in golds, oranges, and violets. But the beauty was lost on her. In her mind, she was seeing Anna as Marie had described her. Sitting on her bed. Gazing out her own window. And in her lap, something blue.

Elsa clutched the little redheaded doll closer to her chest, and fought down another wave of guilt. Guilt hadn't helped anything so far. Hadn't helped her, and certainly hadn't helped Anna. She only hoped that the words she had hastily written to her sister would prove to be a better balm.

_Of course, I want to build a snowman. To dry your tears and hold your hand. I'm sorry that I'm hurting you. It isn't what I want to do. I hope you'll understand._

_Oh, Anna, if you only knew. I hate these secrets too. I wish I could tell you more. I want to be there for my sister. I never knew how much I'd miss her. I need you at my door._

They seemed so woefully inadequate, and as much about her own pain as about Anna's. But they had been the best she'd been able to think of. And she doubted that, had she all the time in the world, she'd ever be able to find the right words to let Anna know... well, everything she deserved to know.

Later that evening, she lay awake in bed, staring now at the ceiling. Sleep seemed as far away as it had at midday. Her confrontation with Anna kept replaying itself in her mind. Only in these memories, she actually said all the things she had wanted to say the first time. In some versions, she heard herself offering new words of comfort and conciliation that had eluded her before. Funny how easily such words could flow when you didn't have to worry about the consequences.

She was so lost in her thoughts, that she almost didn't hear the whisper-soft sound that slipped into her room. But it caught just enough of her attention that she turned her head to look. Then she saw the paper lying on the floor, still partway beneath the door.

Elsa was out of bed and across the room in a second, sliding across the last few feet on her knees in her haste to retrieve the sheet. The breeze she stirred up nearly blew the page back out into the hallway, but her fingers clamped onto it at the last possible instant. Lifting it up, she tilted it towards the window, where the full moon was fortunately shining bright. But her hands were shaking so badly, she couldn't make out a single letter. Taking a deep breath, she forced her hands to stillness. And then finally, she read.

The note was short, only five words. But it was everything she could have hoped for. Her heart swelled within her chest and a smile broke across her face that shone so brightly, it nearly turned the night into day.

_I will be right here._


	13. The Foundations of Friendship

Marie burst through the door at the top of the tower, skidded through a sharp turn, caught herself on the parapet, then ran along beside it until she stumbled to a halt at their usual lookout spot. "Ha, I won!" she crowed triumphantly, between gasps for breath. "Didn't think I could, did you? But I beat you, Anna! Fair and square!"

Only then did she turn around and realize that the red-headed princess was not standing right behind her. In fact, she didn't see Anna at all.

"Anna?" she called out. "Anna, where are you?"

"I'm over here, Marie," came an answering voice from somewhere around the curve of the tower's central spire. Marie retraced her steps, past the door and around to the other side of the guard walk. Sure enough, there was Anna, perched on top of the wall like usual. But this time, her eyes roved over the grounds enclosed within the castle walls. They swept back and forth across the palace, then rose up to scan the houses and shops of the town that clung to the foothills beyond. A wistful smile curved her lips.

"Anna?" Marie queried as she came to stand beside her at the wall. "You okay?"

Anna closed her eyes for a moment, drawing in a deep lungful of the sweet spring air. The last chill of winter had only recently receded, but the scent of growing things was already heavy on the breeze. It seemed to bring with it the promise of new beginnings. And second chances.

"Marie", she began, "have you ever spent so much time dreaming about what you want that you forget all about what you already have?" The other girl just stared up at her, clearly not having any idea what she was talking about.

Anna turned halfway around, so that she straddled the parapet, and looked down from her perch. "I think I need to apologize, Marie. I'm afraid I haven't been a very good friend to you."

Marie looked startled. "What are you talking about? Of course you've been a good friend! I mean..."

But Anna just shook her head, a smile still on her face at Marie's immediate attempt to jump to her defense. "No, I really haven't. And it's no use arguing with me. I've been thinking about this a lot lately. And I know I'm right.

"We first met what, about six months ago now? Seven? And since then, we've had all kinds of fun. Played every game we could think of. Joked, laughed. And we've talked about all sorts of things. But when I think back now, I realize that we never talked about the really important stuff. I certainly didn't. In fact, I went out of my way to hide the most important stuff from you."

Anna turned her head and gazed back at the palace. When she spoke again, her voice had become just the slightest bit distant. "Friends shouldn't keep secrets from each other. Not about the things that really matter."

Marie wasn't entirely sure where this was going. But she was starting to feel more than a little uncomfortable before Anna finally continued. "Elsa left her room."

"What?! When? Today?"

Anna started to shake her head, then shrugged again. "I don't know, maybe. But no, that's not what I meant. I mean she has left her room, several times now apparently, over the last few months."

"She...? But...? When did you find this out?"

Anna looked back at Marie again, and there was the slightest suggestion of pink tinting her cheeks behind her freckles. "The fifth of March."

"Oh." And then, as the significance of the date registered in Marie's mind, "Ohhhhhhh..."

Anna nodded. "I was sitting in front of her room, going on and on about everything that had happened that morning. And then suddenly, there she was. Standing right there in the hallway."

Marie could almost feel answers suddenly clicking into place inside her head. But she had to ask anyway. "What did you do?"

"I lost it. Everything I'd been bottling up since she first hid behind her door. All the anger and pain. I just... It was too much. And I laid it all on her. I said some truly awful things. And I can't lie to myself and say that I didn't mean them, because I really did.

"Then, at the end of it all, I just turned and walked away. Turned my back on Elsa. Shut her out the way she had shut me out for so long. And at that moment, it felt good. It felt right. It felt like what she deserved.

"But by the time I got back to my room, I had already realized what I'd just done. That I did to my sister the exact same thing that's been tearing me up inside all this time. And I hated myself for it. I couldn't stand to even look at myself in the mirror the rest of that day.

"So I tried to make it right. That night, after everyone else had gone to bed, I slipped out and snuck over to Elsa's room. I had no idea what she must have thought of me at that point. I figured she had to be furious with me for the way I'd treated her. So I left her a gift, one that I hoped might let her know how sorry I felt. You might have noticed that one of my dolls has been missing."

Anna's eyes seemed to focus on something that only she could see. "Then I waited. I figured, after all, that Elsa had already left her room three times. Surely, if she'd forgiven me, she could come out again and let me know. And if she didn't... Well, I figured that meant that she was still mad at me and didn't want anything to do with me. So I kept waiting. And waiting." The young princess shrugged. "And she didn't come."

"Oh, Anna," Marie sighed sympathetically. But Anna just shook her head.

"I was being an idiot. Acting like I was the only one whose feelings mattered. Never stopped to think what Elsa might have been feeling. That she might have been every bit as lost and lonely as I was. And who knows how long things might have stayed that way, both of us too scared to reach out to one another. Each convinced that the other wanted nothing to do with us.

"I'm just so lucky that you're a far better friend than I have been. I never thanked you for what you did, you know. I'm not sure how I could ever thank you enough."

Marie's cheeks turned positively scarlet with embarrassment. "Anna, I wish you'd stop saying that. You shouldn't put yourself down. You're a great friend!"

"You think so?" Anna asked with a voice that clearly indicated she still disagreed. "I wanted to do something to thank you, Marie. Something really special. Because what you did for me and Elsa meant more to me than you'll ever know. So I wracked my brain for hours and days trying to figure out what I could do for you that could come anywhere close to that. And that was when I realized... just how little I really know about you."

Marie laughed. "Are you kidding? All the questions you always grilled me with? All the time I spent telling you ab-"

"About the places you lived," Anna interrupted. "About the sights and the sounds of all the cities you've been to. Yeah, I know all about them. But they aren't _you_, Marie! When did I ever ask about _you?_"

The brunette opened her mouth to respond, and then stopped. She thought back on all their conversations, all their idle chatter. And she had the sudden sinking feeling that she wasn't going to be able to argue with Anna on this point.

"I'm so sorry, Marie," Anna replied to the look of dismay that had appeared so clearly on her friend's face. "It's all my fault! I think... I think that I was scared to let myself get close to someone again. Afraid to get hurt again. And it also sort of felt like I would be abandoning Elsa if I let myself make a new friend while she was still hurting so much.

"I see now how unfair that's been. To everyone, really. But especially to you. And I wish I could go back and do it all over again, only get it right this time. But since I can't, I'll just have to do the next best thing. From this point forward, I want to start being as good a friend to you as you have been to me!"

And so saying, Anna hopped down to the flagstones beside Marie and wrapped her arms around her friend, hugging her tight. "That's going to be no small feat, mind you," she whispered into Marie's ear. "But you're absolutely worth it."

• • •

"Now, where should we start?" Anna asked a minute later, when she finally released her embrace. Her face was aglow with excitement, and her body was so full of nervous energy, it seemed completely incapable of standing still.

Marie, still a little thunderstruck by it all, just shook her head. "I... I have no idea! I can't think of a thing."

Anna laughed. "That's alright. Hey, I know! Why don't we take a walk around the grounds? Walking always helps me think." Marie nodded distractedly, figuring that at least a walk might keep Anna from bouncing up and down on the spot like she was now – a singularly distracting movement that certainly wasn't doing anything to help Marie's concentration.

So the two girls made their way back down the tower steps that they'd so recently climbed, Anna still seeming to bounce a little with every step. Marie, meanwhile, found herself falling a bit behind, as her mind continued to try to catch up with what had just happened. She still hadn't quite sorted it all out when she reached the bottom of the stairs... and nearly ran into Anna. The other girl was leaning against the side of the doorway, arms crossed and with a friendly smirk on her face. Having been far too excited to rein herself in, she had reached the bottom well ahead of Marie. Then she had just turned and watched her friend's slower progress down the last curve of the spiral stair.

"Sorry," Marie began.

"Uh uh," Anna cut her off. "No apologies. We've already settled the fact that I'm the one who needs to be asking forgiveness today, not you. So no more of that, understand?" Marie nodded, her lips quirking at Anna's gentle scolding. Anna stepped to one side and graciously gestured for her friend to lead the way into the courtyard.

"So," the princess continued as they stepped back out into the bright spring sunlight, "tell me all about Marie!"

"Oh, Anna," Marie replied in exasperation. "I don't have the faintest idea where to begin. I've never liked talking about myself..."

"Well, there you go!" Anna exclaimed enthusiastically. "See, I've learned something new about you already!" Marie intentionally misstepped so as to bump Anna off balance with her shoulder. They both grinned at each other.

"Alright then, let's try a different approach," Anna decided. "What's your favorite color?"

"Oh. Um, yellow, I guess."

"Favorite dessert?"

"Hmm... Raspberry souffle."

"Ooh, never had that before. But it sounds delicious! Ever had any pets?"

"Not that I recall, no."

"Shoe size?"

Marie stopped in her tracks and gave Anna a look that clearly said, _What kind of a question is that?_ Anna brushed it off with a wave of her hand. "You're right. Doesn't matter. Let's see. I do know that you like to read, so... favorite book?"

"Oooh, that's a tough one. There are so many." They continued to stroll around the grounds as Marie mulled over her answer to that question and the parade of others that followed. Anna was definitely learning a lot about her friend that she'd never known before. And yet, all these bits of trivia still didn't feel like they were adding up to a real sense of Marie herself. She had the nagging feeling that, if she could only hit on the right question, she could finally unravel the mystery. But she was quickly running out of ideas.

They stopped to let a duck waddle across the path a few feet ahead of them. Four fluffy new hatchlings were strung out behind her, hurrying to keep up with their mother. They were such adorable little fuzzballs!

And then suddenly, a snatch of barely remembered conversation popped into Anna's head and right out of her mouth. "If you could be anything you wanted to be when you grow up, what would you be?"

For the second time that morning, one of Anna's questions brought Marie up short. However, the expression on her face was quite different this time. She looked... embarrassed?

Anna turned to face her friend head on. "Marie?"

The other girl began to play nervously with the ends of the ribbon tied around her waist. She bit her bottom lip self consciously before finally saying, "Promise you won't laugh?"

Anna drew a finger twice across her heart. "Promise."

Marie considered Anna for a long moment before finally drawing a deep breath, closing her eyes, and then saying all in a rush, "The only thing I've ever really, really wanted to be is a musician."

When she heard no reply, Marie cautiously opened one eye and peeked out. There she saw Anna standing, eyes round and bright, cheeks dimpled, with both hands covering her mouth. "You are laughing!" she accused in an offended tone.

"No!" Anna shook her head and dropped her hands to reveal what might have been the broadest smile Marie had ever seen on her face. "Oh, Marie! That's so perfect! I don't know why, but it is. It's you, it's so perfectly you!" Marie felt a sheepish grin spreading across her own face. "Oh, tell me more!"

"Well," Marie began, quickly warming up to the subject in the face of such an eager audience, "I've always enjoyed music, for as long as I can remember. My mother is a wonderful singer, though she's rather shy about it. I don't think I've ever seen her sing in public. But whenever we were at home, she would just slip into song while making dinner. Or when I was young and she was giving me a bath. Oh, and her lullabies! I can still hear them in my head as I drift off to sleep some nights. So our home was always full of music.

"But it was in Cartagena that I really fell in love. You see, there was this plaza in the neighborhood where we lived. And about once a week, a group of local musicians would gather there to perform. All kinds of different instruments, mind you. They were sort of an informal orchestra. There were quite a few professionals – some were with the symphony, others with smaller bands. But most of them were just people who loved to play.

"Usually, they would pick popular tunes that everybody knew, and that was wonderful. But every month or two, they'd put on a real 'production'. They'd actually select some more complicated music and get together for a week or so beforehand to rehearse. And when the time came around for one of those concerts, the entire neighborhood would show up. The plaza would be so crowded, you couldn't move. But nobody seemed to mind once the music started."

Anna watched as Marie closed her eyes and began to sway gently to music only she could hear. "I never missed a single one of those performances. Oh, Anna. It was so beautiful. Every time, I'd feel my heart breaking one minute, only to then have it soaring among the clouds the next. It was... it was... Oh, I can't describe it. You had to be there, to hear it yourself. And I thought if I could do that, if I could someday make people feel the way I was feeling? Well then, how could I ask anything more of life."

Marie fell silent, her eyes still lightly closed as the music played out in her head. Anna just watched her, mesmerized. And when her friend finally let the song slip away and opened her eyes again, the only thing Anna could think to say was, "Wow..."

_How did I never know any of this?_ she wondered. She felt more ashamed than ever about how little she'd learned about Marie during all these months. But today was all about correcting those mistakes, not dwelling on them.

"So what instrument do you play?" Anna asked, her curiosity well and truly piqued.

Marie shrugged, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. "Um, none, actually. I mean, just because I love listening to music doesn't mean I'd actually be any good at playing it. And sure, I sometimes imagine myself up on stage performing with the orchestra. But it's just a silly dream." Anna noticed that Marie was once again toying with the ends of her ribbon. "I mean, I'm just a harbor master's daughter, after all. What do I know about music?" She gave a small laugh, an attempt to take some of the sting out of her own words. "In the end, I'm happy enough just to be in the audience."

Anna stared at her friend, searching her face. Marie wasn't returning her gaze, but was looking down at the strip of yellow fabric that she kept rolling and unrolling between her fingers.

"It's not silly," Anna declared somberly, placing a hand on Marie's shoulder. "I think it's a wonderful idea. Now if you'd said that you wanted to grow up to be a souffle chef, that would have been silly."

Her little jest had the desired effect, as Marie giggled endearingly and let go of the ribbon. Anna took advantage of the opportunity to slide her fingers down her friend's arm until she could clasp the newly freed hand. Their fingers intertwined. And then, smiles on both their faces, they continued their walk through the gardens, chatting amiably once again.

But Anna's mind was already racing far ahead.

• • •

Later that afternoon, she stood before the closed door, feeling unaccountably and uncharacteristically nervous. She still wasn't completely sure that this was a good idea. But she couldn't do this alone, and she couldn't see any other way to make it happen.

Steeling herself, she raised her hand and rapped her knuckles against the wood.

"It's me, Anna." She swallowed. "I hope I'm not bothering you. But I... um... I need to ask you for... a favor?"

There was a pause. Which lengthened into a silence. And then finally, the familiar voice replied.

"Alright. Come in."


	14. Midsummer's Eve (reprise)

"How has Anna been lately?"

The queen blinked in surprise. She had stopped by Elsa's room that afternoon simply to visit for a while. Her eldest daughter had been less reserved with her for a while now, and she found that to be encouraging. Perhaps they hadn't quite reclaimed the same level of comfortable ease they'd shared when she was younger; it seemed unlikely that they would ever return to their old rhyming game, for instance. But they did take turns reading poetry to each other now and again. It was the closest they'd been for ages, and Ellinor was determined to make the most of it while it lasted.

"Anna's just fine, dear. Why do you ask?"

Elsa frowned. "I think you may be wrong about that, Mother." When the queen's only response was a puzzled look, the princess went on. "When was the last time you sat down and talked to Anna? I mean, really talked to her. When was the last time you or Father did anything with her, or did anything for her?" She looked at her mother expectantly, making it quite clear that she was awaiting answers.

The queen opened her mouth, but no words came out. So she closed it. And then to her credit, she appeared to think long and hard before trying to respond again. "Her father took her down to the launching of the _Voloe_, back at the end of February. I remember, because I had a brand new dress made for her just for the occasion."

"It was early March, actually," Elsa corrected. "And from what Anna told me, she practically had to beg Father to let her go. But okay, that's one. What about before that, hmm? Have you done anything since then?"

"Elsa, I don't understand what brought this on all of a sudden. Why are you asking these questions? And I'm not sure I like your tone."

"Please, Mother," Elsa responded in a calm and carefully controlled voice. "Please, just think back. Father took Anna to the christening of the _Voloe_. Did he do anything to make it up to Anna after the launch went wrong? Did he offer to take her back when it relaunched?"

Slowly, the queen shook her head.

"What else has Father done with Anna since that day. Since 'That Night'? Has he taken her with him anywhere? Has he spent any time with her inside the castle? Played with her? Read to her?"

The queen didn't shake her head this time. Didn't move at all. Except her eyes, which were moving back and forth as she searched her memory.

"What about you, Mother?" Elsa continued, sympathy and regret coloring her voice. She could see what these questions were doing to her mother. Knew it without even needing to see. "When was the last time you went for a walk through the gardens with Anna, like we used to do? When was the last time you brushed her hair for her?"

Her mother remained silent and still as a statue. Elsa watched her eyes darting from side to side as she frantically tried to remember. Watched as the dawning realization gradually spread across the queen's features. Watched as the color slowly drained from her cheeks.

"Mama, when was the last time you held her and told her that you loved her?"

Elsa inwardly hated herself for having to push that last button. She knew that it had to be done. And after Marie's visit, she realized that she was the only one who could do it. But her gut clenched violently when she saw the first tear spill down her mother's cheek.

She got up from the bed and hurried over to where the queen was sitting on the bench beneath the window. Her mother turned away, trying to hide her shame. But Elsa climbed up to kneel on the cushions right beside her. Then she leaned over, cheek close against the glass, trying to place herself in her mother's line of sight. The queen simply squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

Elsa reached up and, with her gloved fingers, dabbed away at the tears. Then she laid her palm tenderly against her mother's cheek. She was relieved when the queen didn't flinch away, but instead turned her head slightly to press back against her daughter's small hand.

"It's alright, Mama," Elsa soothed. "It's okay. You made a mistake. We all make mistakes. Even parents."

She a got a tight chuckle in reply. "Especially parents," the queen agreed.

"I know that I can't be there for Anna like I used to," Elsa continued. "I understand why, even though I hate it. But Anna's hurting too, Mother. She just hides it so well. And she doesn't understand why everything suddenly had to change, which makes it all the harder on her.

"So if I can't look out for my sister, I need to know that someone else is. And I thank whatever stroke of fortune brought Marie's family to Arendelle, because I don't think Anna could ask for a better friend. But she needs her parents too. It's bad enough that she has to be cooped up in the castle all the time because of me. Please don't make it worse. Anna deserves a chance at a normal life. Or as normal as can be. So don't spend so much time worrying about me that you can't make time for her."

The queen opened her eyes and at last met Elsa's. And through the unshed tears, she gave her daughter a look of deep maternal admiration. "You aren't even ten years old yet. How did you become so wise?"

Elsa gave a small, lopsided smile. "Well, I'll be ten in two months."

And her mother laughed. She reached up and took her daughter's hand from her cheek. Kissed the gloved palm. "Well, we'll have to do something special to celebrate."

"Oh, speaking of celebrating..." The princess drew herself up straight and gave her mother a look of mock severity. "I understand that you didn't observe Midsummer's Eve last year." The queen shook her head, looking a little confused by the sudden shift in the conversation. "Well, we simply cannot have that this year. I think you need to hold the feast again for the castle staff. And the bonfire down at the waterfront, of course. It's a little over a month away, so you should still have time to get everything organized, if you don't dilly-dally too much."

Her mother sniffed once, then nodded slowly as she began to catch up with Elsa's train of thought. "Yes. Yes, I think you're right. It always was a big event every year."

"One of Anna's favorites," Elsa added. "And if I might make another suggestion..."

The queen held up a hand, and in a voice laden with all the false ostentatiousness that her daughter had affected earlier, declared, "I do believe that it would only be appropriate to invite Miss Marie and her family as our special guests of honor this year, don't you?"

Elsa grinned. "I couldn't agree more. But I do have one other suggestion."

She hopped down off her seat and hurried over to her desk. After a brief search, she returned holding a piece of paper. "Mr. Yorikson still has his shop in town, doesn't he?"

The queen thought for a moment, then nodded. "I believe so."

"Perfect!" But now, it was Elsa's turn to look a little uncomfortable. "I know that it still wouldn't be a good idea for me to join in the festivities. But I want Anna to know that I'm at least there in spirit. So..." She thrust the sheet towards her mother, who took it with a wary look in her eyes. Then she proceeded to read over the note carefully. Twice. When she looked up at her daughter again, the wariness had been replaced with something else entirely.

"Elsa, if you grow up to have even half the love for your people that you have for your sister, you will become the greatest leader Arendelle has ever known."

The young princess's entire face burned scarlet.

• • •

The next few weeks flew by in a flurry of activity. Orders were placed throughout the town for provisions of all kinds. The lumber reserves were raided to find the best logs with which to build up the bonfire. Invitations were extended to all the palace staff and their families. And the king himself made a point to personally deliver one additional request for attendance.

No attempt was made to hide the plans, so Anna found out almost immediately. And the first thing she did was to rush to her sister's door to relay the good news. "Elsa, did you hear? It's really happening! We're going to be celebrating Midsummer's Eve! The banquet, the bonfire, everything! And Marie! Marie and her family have been invited too. Oh, I'm so excited, I could just burst!"

Sitting at her desk inside her room, Elsa smiled. It was wonderful to hear so much honest joy in her sister's voice. And it was all too easy to take such a simple thing for granted. So while it lasted, Elsa basked in the reflected warmth of Anna's jubilation.

"The only way this could be better would be if you were joining us," Anna continued, then seemed to catch herself. "Oh, not that I want you to feel bad about not joining us! That wasn't what I meant at all. I mean, I understand. Okay, no, I don't. Well, that is, I understand that you have your reasons, even if I don't know what they are. And I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. But I want you to know that I'll be thinking of you, Elsa. In my heart, you _will _be there. I promise."

So if now her smile became just a little bittersweet, Elsa didn't begrudge it of herself. She had helped make her sister happy. And after all the pain she had caused Anna, it meant the world to her to know that she had still been able to find a way to be the big sister.

And she continued to receive daily updates from Anna as the solstice drew ever closer. How Gerda had been allowed to temporarily recall some of the old kitchen staff to help prepare all the food. How the dining hall was being cleaned from top to bottom, and set with several long tables for the feast. How the queen had even sought Anna's advice in selecting the centerpieces and place settings!

When the morning of the big day finally dawned, Elsa had no lessons scheduled. There were simply far too many last minute preparations that needed seeing to. So when the sound of her mother's voice at the door interrupted her casual reading, it was a somewhat unexpected, though certainly not unwelcome, surprise.

"I just wanted you to know that everything is ready, exactly as you suggested," the queen said after she had seated herself by the window. "I plan to make the presentation after dinner, right before we head down to the bonfire."

Elsa grinned broadly and nodded. "That sounds perfect. Thank you, Mother, for doing this favor for me."

Her mother returned the smile warmly. "It was the least I could do, sweetheart. The very least. And because of that, I wanted to do a little something more." So saying, she withdrew from one of her billowy sleeves a short, narrow package, wrapped with a bright blue ribbon. And she held it out to Elsa.

"For... for me?" Elsa asked, surprised. When the queen nodded, Elsa stood up from her desk chair and crossed the few steps to the window. As she took the parcel, her mother slid a little ways down the bench – a clear invitation for her daughter to join her, though there had been plenty of room next to her already.

So the princess sat next to the queen. But still, she just stared at the present in her hands. "Well, open it," her mother prompted, a note of eager anticipation sneaking into her voice. "I hope you'll like it."

Elsa tugged at the end of the ribbon, and the bow came easily undone. Then, she carefully unwound the soft cloth that wrapped the object hidden inside. And when the brilliant brass cylinder rolled out onto her lap, Elsa didn't know what to say. Her mother, fortunately, filled the silence.

"It's a spyglass," she explained. "I know that you still aren't ready to join us tonight. But once we've all left after dinner, the castle will be essentially deserted for several hours. I thought you might consider it a good opportunity to, you know, get out and stretch your legs. And if, by some chance, you found yourself in the top room of the central spire... Well, the windows up there offer a spectacular view. You can see everything from up there. Even the spot down by the shore where a big pile of logs has been stacked up for some reason."

The queen couldn't help but laugh as her daughter suddenly turned to look at her, eyes round as saucers. "Oh, Mother!" And before Ellinor knew what was happening, Elsa's arms were wrapped around her, squeezing her tight, while her little girl buried her face in her mother's neck. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

She returned the embrace, gently rubbing her daughter's back. "You're quite welcome, sweetheart."

• • •

Anna found it hard to sit still during the banquet that night. She was too excited for what she knew was coming after. Fortunately, she was seated between her mother on her left (whose watchful eye ensured that Anna would attempt to maintain her best behavior) and Marie on her right (who provided excellent conversation, at least once she got over her nerves at finding herself seated at the high table with the royal family). Marie's parents, Anton and Jacqueline, sat on their daughter's other side. The king's side of the table was occupied by his closest advisors. He had tried to convince Kai and Gerda to sit with them, but both had insisted that they were far too busy seeing to the festivities to be able to spare the time for such trivial activities as eating.

One by one, the courses passed before them. Appetizers, soups, fresh meats, breads and cheeses, berries and dried fruits. Marie only took a small sampling of each dish, but she was soon proclaiming that she couldn't possibly eat another bite.

"Betcha can." Anna winked as their plates were cleaned away once more. And then the final course was brought out and set first before the diners at the high table.

"Raspberry souffle?" Marie gasped. Anna grinned, digging a slightly too large spoonful out of her bowl. She raised it to her friend in a sort of toast. Marie hastily plunged a spoon into her own dish, then returned the gesture with a look of eager anticipation. Both girls slipped their first bites into their mouths at the same time.

Marie closed her eyes and sighed, savoring the flavor as the dessert melted on her tongue. Anna's eyes, on the other hand, flew wide open. "Oh, Marie! That's absolutelywonderful!" And she quickly devoted her full attention to the remainder of the bowl in front of her.

A few all too short minutes later, the souffles were gone and the last plates had been cleared away. Then, the king stood and addressed the assembled guests who filled the room. "My friends," he began. "I think I don't use that word often enough, but it is what I consider each and every one of you to be. Without you, this castle would not function. Without you, Arendelle would not prosper. Without you, I would be completely and hopelessly lost." He turned to glance down at his queen seated beside him. "Though there are some who would say that is the case regardless of the company I keep."

Anna laughed along with the rest of the room. She always admired the way her father spoke to his people. He managed to project authority and wisdom. But at the same time, his sense of humor made it seem like he never considered himself to be in any way above the common man. Anna thought she did reasonably well herself with the humor part. But authority and wisdom had always been more of Elsa's specialty.

She sent her thoughts questing out through the corridors of the castle, twisting up the staircases and straight to her sister's room. _I'm thinking of you, Elsa. Now and always._

The king had all but finished his speech by the time Anna drew her thoughts back to the dining hall. "And so, the time has come for the second part of our annual Midsummer's Eve tradition. If you would all please make your way down to the waterside, we will join you shortly." There was the sound of chairs scraping across the floor as the revelers began to make their way towards the doors in groups of twos and threes. Marie began to slide her seat back as well, but Anna put a restraining hand on her arm.

"Not yet. Just wait a minute." Marie looked at her questioningly. But when no further explanation was forthcoming, she settled back into her chair and waited.

Soon, the hall had emptied of all but the royal family, Marie, and her parents. Looking around, Marie was slightly annoyed to find that nobody else besides her seemed to be at all surprised by this arrangement. "Anna," she said, turning back to her friend, "what's going on?"

The first thing Marie saw was the ear-to-ear grin splitting Anna's face. The second thing was the case that her friend was carefully cradling in both arms and holding out towards her.

Marie looked up at Anna, then down at the case. Then past Anna to the king and queen, who were standing behind their daughter and smiling broadly. Slowly, Marie reached out, lifted the case from Anna's hands, and laid it gently on the table in front of her. Flipping the two latches that held it shut, she opened the lid. And gasped.

It was a violin. And a more beautiful instrument, Marie had never seen. She didn't even dare to touch it for fear of marring the shine of the meticulously polished wood, which seemed to almost glow beneath the candlelight of the dining hall. Cautiously, almost fearfully, she ran a finger ever so lightly down one of the strings. She felt its faint vibration through her fingertip, which seemed to run all the way up her arm and down her spine.

"Anna... Anna, I can't accept this. It's too much. I can't..."

"Yes, you can," said her father's voice from behind her. She turned and looked up to see her parents standing there, smiles warming their faces as well. "After His Majesty delivered our invitation to tonight's event, he took me aside and spoke to me in private. He told me how you confided to Princess Anna about your dream of being a musician. And he asked me if I might know your favorite instrument. Because, he said, the princess wanted to do something to thank my daughter for... What was the phrase? Oh, yes. 'Services rendered to the Kingdom of Arendelle.'

"Dearest Marie, I only wish you'd told us about this dream of yours sooner. We would have supported you in any way we could. But now that we knew, we offered all possible help to His Majesty. I told him about the look you always got on your face when the strings rose above the rest of the orchestra, how you seemed to be transported during those moments. And so it was settled."

Marie gaped at her father, then at her mother. Then she turned to stare at Anna again, who was still wearing that ear-splitting grin. "You're lucky that we happen to have an expert craftsman in the village who specializes in all sorts of stringed instruments," Anna said, picking up the explanation without missing a beat. "And Mr. Odegaard also gives lessons, too. He's agreed to start teaching you one day each week, and then decide how to go from there. Isn't it wonderful, Marie?"

Marie didn't even try to find the words, for she knew there were none. She just threw herself at her friend, tears of joy streaming down her face. Anna caught her and held her. Both girls felt like they would be perfectly content to just stay right there the rest of the night.

But eventually, the queen cleared her throat. "I'm afraid we really must be getting down to the bonfire," she said. "We can't keep our guests waiting all evening. But I don't think they'll mind if they have to wait just a minute or two longer."

She knelt down beside the two girls, and turned first to Marie. "I have another gift for you." And she extracted a small but colorful object from somewhere inside the folds of her gown, which she handed to her daughter's friend. Marie took it with wide-eyed wonder.

It was a doll, almost the twin of the redheaded one that she had played with once in Anna's room. Only this one had no crown on top of its head, and its dress was the exact shade of sea green that Anna had worn that day when they had both boarded the _Voloe_.

"And also one for you." Marie looked up to see the queen handing Anna a second doll. But this one was wearing a yellow dress, and its brown hair was sculpted into a ponytail at the back of its head.

"Marie!" Anna exclaimed. "It's you! And it's me! It's us!" She turned back to the queen, wrapped her arms around her mother's neck, and proceeded to give her a series of kisses all over her cheek. "Oh, Mother! They're amazing! They're perfect! Thank you so much!"

"Yes, thank you, Your Majesty," Marie replied, finally finding her voice and somehow remembering how to curtsy.

"You're both welcome, I'm sure," replied the queen. "But I'm afraid you're thanking the wrong person. These dolls were your sister's idea, Anna."

"Elsa?" Anna's question was barely a whisper. "Oh, Mama. I have to go thank her right away!"

"Not now, dear," the queen responded with just a touch of sternness in her voice. "I meant it when I said we can't keep our guests waiting much longer. But there will be time for you to thank your sister later. I suspect she will still be awake when we get back tonight."

Anna nodded, a little disappointed, but knowing that this was not the time to press the issue. When she turned back to Marie, and saw her friend smiling down at the miniature princess in her hand, any regret slipped away. "Come on, Marie. You can leave your violin here. It'll be safer than down by all the water and the fire."

Marie looked to her parents for their approval. When they nodded, she ever so carefully closed the case and refastened the latches. Then, arm in arm, she and Anna led the way out the doors and down to the celebration at the shore.

• • •

Elsa had watched from her window as the families of all the palace staff had filed in late that afternoon. She had watched them leave hours later as the sun was beginning to set below the mountains. And she had watched when, a few minutes later, six more figures walked out of the palace and passed through the castle gates.

She had watched them all using her mother's gift. Had seen so many faces she'd nearly forgotten, and a few that she didn't recognize at all. And as the daylight was finally fading, she had watched her sister and Marie, skipping hand in hand across the courtyard. And though she couldn't quite make it out for sure in the dim light, she liked to imagine she caught a flash of bright color in each girl's free hand.

As soon as they had disappeared beyond the gates, she'd taken her mother's advice. With no need for secrecy or concern about running into anyone else, she had practically marched out of her room and headed straight to the stairs that led up the central spire. In no time at all, she was looking out the windows from the topmost room of the castle.

But with the sun having fully set now, Arendelle was nearly invisible. All that could be seen were the glows from scattered windows stretching back up the hillside and the regular, rhythmic flashes of the lighthouse towers that marked the entrance to the harbor. Using those as guides, Elsa tried to guess where the bonfire would be lit. She trained her spyglass on what she thought might be the spot, but couldn't see a thing. So she settled in to wait.

She didn't have to wait long, however. Only a few minutes had passed before she saw tiny specks of light flicking near the location where she thought the bonfire would be. Lifting the telescope to her eyes, she focused on the distant sparks. They were torches. And soon, one after another were thrust into the towering pile of carefully stacked logs. The kindling ignited, and in almost no time, a roaring fire was blazing forth, casting a wavering orange glow across the pebbly beach.

The light wasn't enough to discern much from such a distance, even with the spyglass's aid. But she could make out silhouettes as they passed before the flames. She watched them dancing to unheard music. Followed couples as they strolled past the blaze, hands clasped together or arms intertwined. Saw young children dart back and forth, in the middle of some game made all the more exciting by the shimmering shadows that played alongside them.

So no, it wasn't the same as being there herself. And yet, in a way, it was. Elsa's powers had made her an outsider, whether she wanted to be or not. If she had been down there by the bonfire, she felt certain that she would have ended up standing far back from the group, skirting the unstable line between the darkness and the light. Not joining in, but only watching.

"Except," she said quietly to herself, "for Anna." And she smiled. For she could just picture the younger girl bursting out of the middle of everything, darting into the darkness, grabbing her by the hand, and dragging her right back down into the warmth and light. Yes, that was Anna. That was her sister.

Elsa continued to watch the strange shadow theater for a long time, until she noticed the number of shadows starting to dwindle, and the fire beginning to burn lower and lower. She collapsed the spyglass, wrapping it carefully in the soft cloth in which it had been presented to her. Then she retraced her steps down the stairs and back to her room.

She sat on her window bench for a while, gazing out at the dark courtyard below. She had thought she might be able to watch the few people who actually lived in the palace as they straggled back in. But the moon was only a sliver in the night sky. It might provide enough wan illumination to pick out a familiar path up from the harbor, but nowhere near enough to make out anything from this distance. Finally, she abandoned her vigil and prepared herself for bed.

She had only been ensconced under the covers for a few minutes when...

Knock knock-knock-knock knock knock.

"Elsa? I hope I didn't wa-a-ake you." The yawn in her sister's voice made it abundantly clear that she would not be awake for much longer herself. "I know it's late, but I couldn't wait until morning. I had to stop by and thank you tonight. I don't know where you came up with the idea, but..." Anna's voice trailed off. For a moment, Elsa half thought her sister had fallen asleep outside her door. But then her voice returned, and there was no trace of muzzy sleepiness in it now.

"Thank you, Elsa. From both Marie and me. That's not enough, I know. But I've never been as good with words as you. And if I try, I'll just start babbling and ruin the moment. So just... Thank you. I'm so lucky to have you as a sister."

Then came the sound of a mighty yawn, poorly stifled. "G'night, Elsa. Pleasant dreams." And then the sound of shuffling footsteps fading away down the hall.

"Good night, Anna. I love you."


	15. (King to) Queen's Night

"Elsa's birthday is tomorrow."

"Mm-hmm."

"Our little girl will be ten years old."

"Mm-hmm."

"Not so little any more, I suppose."

"Mm-hmm."

"Agdar, are you paying any attention to a word I'm saying? And if your answer is, 'Mm-hmm,' so help me..."

"Mm-hmm."

The queen reached across the bed, grabbed the thick ledger out of her husband's hands, and snapped it shut about an inch in front of his nose. At last, he turned to look at her, startled confusion writ large across his features. "Ellinor, what..." Then he saw the glare he was receiving, and quickly opted to change tactics. "...were you saying?"

Scarcely mollified, the queen repeated herself in stiff, measured tones. "The same thing that I've been saying and that you've been ignoring for the past week. Elsa's tenth birthday is tomorrow. And I think we ought to do something special to celebrate."

"Oh." The king quickly ran through a list of likely responses before settling on the one that seemed the safest. "And what did you have in mind?"

"Well, I had thought that perhaps we could have a small dinner in the parlor, just the four of us. I'd have Gerda prepare all of Elsa's favorite dishes, and..."

"Ellinor, my dear. Elsa wouldn't come to such a dinner. You know that."

"Why not? It would only be the one night. We could give the staff the evening off, so it would just be family. And I think it would do both her and Anna a world of good to spend a little time together again."

"You know perfectly well that Elsa can't leave her room," the king replied dismissively.

"No, I don't! Honestly, Agdar, when did first you stop paying attention to me when I talk to you? I've told you that Elsa has left her room several times already. She's just nervous to be around too many people at once, so she usually only does it when the castle is relatively empty. That's why I suggested it just be the four of us."

"You also said that she was specifically avoiding Anna each of those times. I _do_ pay attention, you see. So what makes you think she would agree to come to a dinner with Anna there."

"Have you forgotten Midsummer's Eve?"

"Not at all. I distinctly remember Elsa's absence from the banquet, from the bonfire, from..."

"Agdar, just having the celebration at all was Elsa's idea! And she suggested it for Anna's sake! You remember as well as I do how close our girls used to be. It's tearing both of them up to be separated like this, and it's tearing me up watching them struggle to try to maintain some kind of connection despite it all."

"And _you_ know that they have to remain separated!" the king responded, a bit of heat creeping into his voice. "I'm sure you remember why. Until Elsa can control her powers..."

"But she's been controlling them!" the queen responded, her voice growing louder to match her husband's. "You've mentioned it yourself. Those gloves of yours. She hasn't lost control once since she started wearing them. How much more do you want from her?"

"Well, clearly Elsa doesn't feel it's enough. If she thinks she's in control now, then why does she still stay hidden away in her room, hmm?"

"We just discussed that!" Ellinor threw up her hands in exasperation. "She's been out of her room!"

"Yes, and we also established that she's so uncertain of herself, that she's afraid to come out if she thinks there's any chance she might run into someone, particularly Anna. That doesn't sound to me like she thinks she's in control."

"And how will she ever know whether or not she can maintain control around Anna if she never lets herself get near Anna?"

"It's too dangerous!" King Adgar sat bolt upright in the bed, his nostrils flaring. "I am not going to risk Anna's life in order to determine whether or not Elsa might have control of her... her abilities."

His queen slowly sat upright as well. But when she spoke, her voice was a quiet growl, and all the more terrible for it. It was the sound of a mother bear protecting her cub. "How can you define the measure of Elsa's success as her ability to interact safely with her sister again, and then deny her any opportunity to ever be near Anna? Are you saying that she will never be able to prove herself to you? That she will have to spend the rest of her life locked up in her room, because there's nothing she can do – nothing that you'll let her do – that will satisfy you?"

"No, of course not." Hearing the rumbling anger in his wife's voice, he quickly attempted a more diplomatic approach. "When Elsa thinks she's ready, she'll let us know. As you pointed out, she can leave her room when she wants to. There's nothing stopping her except her own uncertainty. It's her choice."

"Is it?" the queen asked scornfully. "I don't recall it being her choice to move into that room in the first place. I went along with the decision at the time, because I was terrified and didn't know what else to do. But I can't help but wonder if we made a mistake in separating our daughters like that."

"We had no choice! Ellinor, Anna nearly died!"

"Yes. Yes, she did. But she could be just as seriously hurt falling out of one of those trees that she so loves to climb. Should we cut down every tree in the gardens to make sure that doesn't happen? Or lock her in her own room to keep her from climbing them?"

"But it's only because the trolls wiped all memories of magic from Anna's mind that she's still with us! What do you think would happen if Elsa were to slip and Anna saw it? Would that be enough to make Anna remember? And if it did, what would that do to her? Do you know? Do you? Because I don't!"

"And we're right back here again!" The queen threw up her hands in exasperation. "Yes, there's a chance that Elsa might let her powers slip, even though she hasn't for nearly a year. There's also a chance that Anna could trip running down the stairs. We can't protect them from everything, dear. Life happens. As much as we want to keep them forever safe, they are going to get hurt. Could get hurt at any time for any reason. You can never know. But what I do know is that they're both hurting right now, and we have it in our power to help put an end to that."

"A little bit of loneliness is a small price to pay for their safety," the king retorted sharply. "And far easier to mend than a frozen heart!"

The queen glowered at her husband with a look of scorn that she made no attempt to conceal. "I thought I was married to a King, Agdar. Not a fool. I've spent far more time with Elsa than you have. I watched how brokenhearted she was those first few months in her new room. And yes, I thought it was just grief and worry over what had almost happened to Anna. That was part of it, I'm sure. But Anna was fine. The grief and guilt should have faded with time. And yet, it didn't. It still hasn't. How can it, when every day spent isolated from her sister only reminds her of it?"

"Ellinor..."

"You know as well as I do that the more emotional Elsa gets, the harder it is for her to keep her power in check. We've both seen it. So of course she had trouble maintaining control when her entire life was turned upside-down. She was an emotional wreck! And what was your solution to that? 'Conceal. Don't feel.'" The queen nearly spat the words. "Honestly, Agdar! Have _you_ ever been able to make your feelings go away by just pretending they don't exist?"

"Ellinor! A king or queen cannot allow themselves to be ruled by their emotions!"

"Elsa is not a queen! She's a ten year old girl! Do you even remember was it was like to be a child, Agdar? Were you ever young? It's all about emotions! How can you learn to control them if you don't let yourself experience them first? That's like expecting someone who's never been in the saddle to somehow rein in an unbroken stallion! It's insane!"

"Ellinor! Elsa is not ready! That is my judgment."

"Then your lack of judgment makes me fear for this kingdom."

Her husband's face turned as dark as a roiling thunderhead. "But I am still the king," he nearly snarled. "There will be no birthday dinner. And there will be no further discussion! My decisions are final!"

A moment of portentous silence hung between them. The queen looked for all the world as though she had just been slapped. Then, her face grew hard and cold.

"How dare you!" She bit out each word. "Not when it comes to my children, they're not! How dare you even suggest that I don't have a say in the raising of our daughters!" She threw off the covers and rose from the bed.

"Where are you going?" the king asked, a hint of concern mixing with the still unabated anger in his voice.

"I have no idea," his wife answered, and her sharp tone cut like steel. "All I know is that right this second, I cannot stand to be in the same room with you." And with that, she strode swiftly across the room and out the door.

• • •

"Honestly, sometimes I wonder what on Earth I ever saw in that man!" the queen grumbled over the top of her cup.

"Oh, I dunno. His looks. His charm. His fortune. His sense of humor. Hi-i-is..." Gerda yawned, "...impeccable taste in women." She filled her own mug with the hot, strong tea. And then she added a splash from the flask she kept hidden in the top cupboard, just as she had flavored the queen's cup. She took a slow sip, savored it as it warmed its way down her throat.

"But he can be such an... an... imbecile!"

"Of course he can. He's a man. It's their specialty."

Ellinor couldn't quite suppress a small chuckle. Not for the first time, she thanked her stars that Gerda had taken her up on the offer to move into the castle after her husband had unexpectedly passed away years ago. This wasn't the first time the queen had sought her friend's confidences in the middle of the night. There were, after all, some things that she simply could not talk about with her husband.

His pig headed arrogance being at the top of that list.

She sighed. "I don't know what to do, Gerda. He just won't listen to me. He's made up his mind and nothing I say will get him to see reason."

The other woman nodded. "Yes, dear. And I'm certain that you were completely open-minded and quite willing to be shown the flaws in your own thinking."

The queen scowled. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

"Ohhh!" Gerda exclaimed. "I'm terribly sorry, Your Majesty. I thought you were looking for advice tonight. But if it's only sympathy you're seeking, I can manage that too. Far easier for me, actually. Less thinking, more nodding."

This time, Ellinor didn't even bother trying to hide her laugh. "Alright, alright. You win, as usual." Still smiling, though feeling a little bit annoyed at having her perfectly honed pique so eloquently disrupted, she took another sip of tea. "So what advice do you have for this poor pilgrim, Oh Wise One?"

The Sage of the Kitchen set her mug down on the table between them, then leaned back in her chair to gaze at the ceiling. The queen had already explained the gist of the argument in which she and the king had become embroiled. It had, in fact, begun pouring out of her the instant Gerda had opened the door. And while she knew her friend well enough to recognize that she hadn't quite been told everything, she had heard enough to be getting on with.

"Well," she began thoughtfully, "I personally think that you are quite right. Those two girls can't stay separated like this forever. Not without making matters all the worse for both of them."

"Thank you!" Ellinor replied, her gratitude apparent in her voice. "It's good to know that at least one other person agrees with me."

"Oh, two at least, I'm sure," Gerda corrected. "It seems pretty clear that Anna is of a similar mind, what with all the time she spends outside Elsa's door." The queen nodded, her thoughts and her heart momentarily drifting out to her younger daughter.

"I also believe that the king is most likely right as well," the matronly woman continued contemplatively.

"Wait, what?" Ellinor did a double take. "But... But you just said that you agreed with me!"

Gerda looked back at her friend with the bearing of a patient teacher explaining a simple concept to a particularly slow pupil. "My dear, it is quite possible to agree with more than one person at a time, you know. And it is a rare argument indeed where either side is wholly wrong or wholly right. In this case, I think His Majesty was probably correct when he said that Elsa is not quite ready to leave her room for such an event, even if the rest of the palace were unoccupied. Tell me, and be honest with yourself... Do you not think Elsa would find such a gathering uncomfortable? Do you think she would be able to relax enough to enjoy it?"

The queen sat in silent consideration, the seconds ticking by as she tried to imagine the situation from Elsa's point of view. Finally, her proud shoulders slumped. "No, I suppose not." When she spoke again, a note of desperation was plain in her voice. "But it's her birthday, Gerda! Her tenth birthday! I told her we would do something special. I can't disappoint her. Not again." And as she thought back on how little fanfare they had given Elsa's birthday the year before, she felt positively nauseous.

"And no one is suggesting that you should! Dear me, there's more than one way to celebrate a birthday, after all!" Gerda resumed her pose of deep contemplation. But this time, her eyes did not focus on the roof above their heads. Instead, they turned to pin her friend with a keen regard. "Special, eh? Tell me, what part of your first plan did you think Elsa would find special?"

Ellinor shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought it would be nice to treat her to a meal of all her favorites..."

"So it was the food then?"

The queen considered this. "No... No, not really. I can't really say that Elsa was ever one to get that excited about food, even when we did serve her favorites. Well, with the possible and completely understandable exception of chocolate, naturally." And she smiled at this, for it was a passion that she was quite proud to have passed down to both of her daughters.

"Ah, so it was the location then! Elsa must have particularly strong memories of the parlor."

Ellinor shook her head. "No. No, it just seemed more intimate than the formal dining room. I'd hoped it would be less intimidating for her. Would help her feel more at ease."

"Ah. So not really special either," Gerda mused, sounding disappointed. "Well... It would appear that there really wasn't much of anything special in that particular idea at all then!" The words would have seemed harsh, but for the mischievous glint in the woman's kindly eyes.

Slowly, the queen once again shook her head. "No. I mean, I suppose not. I guess it was more..." And then, suddenly, Ellinor's face lit up. "Oh! Oh, Gerda! Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Your Majesty, I am just immodest enough to say that I'm pretty sure I was thinking of it first, and for quite some time now at that. But yes, I do believe we're on the same page at last."

• • •

Elsa had just finished brushing her hair when the knock came the next morning. "Elsa, dear." It was her mother's voice. "May I come in?"

"Of course, Mother," Elsa replied, setting down her brush and turning towards the door. But though it swung open, her mother did not enter. Rather, she just stood, framed in the doorway, looking across the room at her daughter. And smiling in a somewhat peculiar fashion. Elsa raised an eyebrow. "Mother?"

"Good morning, sweetheart," the queen answered, and her smile grew a little wider. "And a particularly remarkable morning at that, hmm?" Elsa got the distinct impression that her mother was enjoying the punchline of a joke that her daughter had somehow missed.

"Is it?" Elsa responded blankly.

The queen's smile faltered a little. "Oh, goodness. Surely you realize... I mean, don't tell me you..."

And then it struck Elsa what day it was. Yes, she had forgotten! It was all too easy to lose track of the days when the walls never change. But she remembered now. Today was the day she turned ten!

Her mother must have seen the dopey, lopsided grin spreading across her face, because her own smile solidified once again. "You may or may not remember a conversation we had a couple of months ago when this particular subject came up," she said teasingly. "As I recall, I believe I made some offhanded comment about the need to do something special to celebrate."

Elsa's couldn't help herself. Her eyes lit up and her smile split into a grin. Now, she had at least some inkling of the jest her mother must have been privately enjoying earlier. And she was very eager to be let in on the joke herself.

"And so, in honor of this very special occasion, I... had Gerda bake you a cake!"

Elsa felt her expression freeze for a split second. But she quickly tried to hide her initial disappointment. "Oh! That sounds wonderful! Thank you, Mother! So, will she be bringing it up for lunch then, or dinner?"

"Oh, no dear. It's right here."

The queen retreated two steps back into the hallway. And sure enough, from just around the corner of the door walked a cake. With legs. And red hair. Elsa thought she felt her heartbeat stumble.

The cake dropped a few inches, and two bright blue eyes peered nervously over the top of the thick chocolate frosting. A small voice, every bit as anxious as the eyes, piped up from behind the concealing confection, squeaking only slightly. "H-Hello, Elsa. Happy birthday!"


	16. Birthday Surprise

Elsa's room was filled with the loudest silence she had ever heard. The blood was pounding in her ears as she stared at her little sister, standing there in her doorway, trying to peek around a large chocolate cake that was tilting more precariously with each passing moment.

"Hmm, why don't you let me take that now, dear," their mother said solicitously as she stepped carefully around Anna and quickly grabbed the dish before it could reach the quite literal tipping point. Anna, suddenly finding her hands free and not knowing quite what to do with them, tucked them behind her back and began self-consciously toeing the side of one shoe with the other. She lowered her head, as if she wanted to avert her gaze. But she couldn't take her eyes off Elsa.

For her part, Elsa's eyes kept flicking back and forth between her sister and her mother, who had crossed the room and was now setting the cake down gingerly on Elsa's desk. "Mother?" she finally managed to ask. She was not at all surprised to hear the slight tremble in her own voice.

The queen straightened up, clapped her hands smartly together, and nodded once to herself. "Right!" she said. Then, she turned to face her older daughter.

"Elsa," she began, and in her voice was all the kindness and understanding that she could bring to bear. "I know that you weren't expecting this. I know that you might not feel ready for it yet. I understand. We both do. And if it makes you too uncomfortable, Anna has agreed that she'll leave. Now, or at any time.

"But I believe that you _are _ready, sweetheart. I've watched you these last two years. I've seen you struggle with... yourself. And I know it hasn't been easy. But Elsa, you should know: I am so proud of you and how far you've come. You have shown a maturity well beyond your years. Beyond anything I ever displayed at your age. It's why I think the time has finally come when you can handle this. I have faith in my little... Sorry, my big girl.

"Still, it's entirely up to you. Your decision. And we'll respect it, either way. Are you willing to give it a try?"

The older princess turned back to look at her sister again. Anna's eager gaze hadn't moved an inch. But she raised her head a bit now, and a half-apologetic, half-goofy, all-Anna smile formed on her lips. She didn't say a word, but she didn't need to. Her eyes spoke volumes. _Please, Elsa? I'll be good, I promise. Just don't turn me away. Please, just let me share this one special day with my big sister._

Elsa swallowed hard. Then, not quite trusting her voice, and not entirely sure what her own answer was going to be until she gave it, she moved her head.

Elsa nodded.

It's possible that Anna made some attempt to restrain her response; Elsa couldn't tell. But if she did, she either failed miserably or else her desired response would have blown the door off its hinges. A giant grin threatened to split her face in two, and she proceeded to jump up and down on the spot, sending her braided pigtails flapping about her face. She began clapping her hands while a giddy giggle filled the room.

Their mother watched this with indulgent amusement for several seconds before finally clearing her throat. "Anna..."

The young redhead managed, with some difficulty, to tamp down her bouncing and laughter. But the grin still remained. And she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other, performing a subdued little dance as her enthusiasm refused to be wholly restrained. It was so characteristically Anna that Elsa felt the corners of her own mouth lift in a small smile.

"Well, now," the queen continued lightly, "I know it's probably a little early in the day for cake. But given the occasion, I won't tell anyone if you two don't." Anna shook her head vigorously, suddenly serious. After all, there was chocolate involved here. "Anna, dear, would you please bring in the plates?"

In a flash, the princess had ducked around the corner of the door, bending down to pick up a stack of dishes and utensils that the queen had obviously set out of sight earlier so as not to spoil her little surprise. She hurried over to the desk with her burden, setting them down carefully while eying the layers of thick brown frosting.

"Thank you," said the queen as she lifted the knife off the top of the pile. "Now it's only fair that the birthday girl should get the first piece." And after a few deft movements, she handed Elsa a plate, a fork, and a thick wedge of moist chocolate delight. The princess took the proffered treat, but didn't dig in right away. For a while, she just looked at it. She was trying to remember the last time she'd eaten a piece of cake, but she found that she couldn't. Had it been that long ago? Or had so much else simply driven the memory out of her mind?

"Elsa," Anna piped up, clearly trying not to sound too very impatient. The older sister looked up to see her mother and sister, each with as yet untouched helpings of their own. They were watching her, waiting for her to take the first bite. A little nervous at their attention, she lifted the fork off the plate. Then, she carefully pushed it down through the narrow end of her slice (the top half, of course, to maximize the icing). Tipping the fork over to cradle the morsel, she raised it to her lips and slipped it inside.

Her eyes slid shut as Gerda's virtuoso performance filled her senses. The bittersweet taste of dark chocolate melted across her tongue, while the creamy frosting clung briefly to the roof of her mouth. The rich, wonderful scent flooded her nostrils. And it was still warm! Had Gerda stayed up all night preparing this?

She let that first bite linger in her mouth for longer than was strictly appropriate. She almost regretted it when she finally swallowed. But the heady flavor persisted even then. Elsa didn't think she had ever tasted anything so decadent. Finally, she opened her eyes to find Mother and Anna still watching her. The queen's mouth had quirked in a smile of sympathetic appreciation. Anna, meanwhile, had her fork poised eagerly over her plate.

"This just might be Gerda's masterwork," Elsa declared in her soft voice. "Please give her my compliments, and my deepest thanks!"

Anna's eyes opened wide at the grand praise. Then she attacked her own slice, looking like she was ready to wolf the whole thing down in a matter of seconds. But her fork was only halfway back on the return trip from her mouth when the full effect hit her. She might still be young, but Anna knew how to appreciate chocolate! She too let her first taste tarry on her tongue, And then she proceeded, with all appropriate deliberation, to slowly make her way, bite by bite, through the rest.

The queen, ever the model of poise and grace, delicately freed each small forkful from her plate, sliding every bite between lips that opened just wide enough and no more. Unlike her daughters, her reactions were subdued and refined. Still, Elsa caught sight of her tongue darting out more than once to grab an errant crumb or bit of icing that clung to the corner of her mouth. Proper composure was all well and good. But squandering even a morsel of something this wonderful would be positively sinful!

Sooner than any of them would have liked, all three plates were clean. Anna stared longingly at the remaining cake, still sitting on Elsa's desk. "No, dear," the queen responded to her daughter's unspoken thought. "I think that's probably enough for now." But a disappointed lilt in her voice suggested that Anna was not alone in her temptation.

And then, just like that, the silence returned. Having completed the obvious celebratory activity, no one now seemed to have any notion what ought to come after. Anna and her mother exchanged looks, each silently inviting the other to make the next move. Neither did. And Elsa knew why both of them had suddenly been struck dumb.

They were afraid of her. Well, more accurately, they were afraid of upsetting her. However, Elsa herself was surprised to find that they really didn't need to be. After the initial shock of seeing Anna had worn off, she now found herself feeling perfectly comfortable and content. Okay, so the cake had probably played some part in that. It's hard to feel too afraid, after all, with a belly full of warm chocolate. But whatever the reason, she did not want to let this opportunity slip away. She did not want to be the one responsible for spoiling her own birthday party.

"So, is Marie enjoying her violin lessons?" she asked Anna, hoping her voice conveyed genuine interest.

Her sister's head whipped around to face her, the startled look it wore making it quite clear that she hadn't expected the conversation to start from that corner of the room. Slowly, Anna nodded. "Um, uh huh. Quite a lot, actually. Well, she's only had four lessons so far, so she's still just on the basics. But she practices all the time! She worked so hard on mastering her scales that Mr. Odegaard started teaching her some simple tunes by their third visit! I haven't heard her play yet, though. I think she's a little shy about it. She said she doesn't want to perform for me until she thinks she's good enough, even though I told her that anything she can play is better than the nothing that I can play..."

That was all it took. One little nudge, and Anna's talkative personality did the rest. Elsa was more than happy to spend most of the time just listening. It was a role she'd grown quite used to. She would ask an occasional question or offer a small comment. But their mother also joined in to keep the topic going, or to artfully segue into a new subject when the current one started to lag.

And as the morning wore on, Elsa couldn't help but wonder. Here she was, having a perfectly normal conversation with her mother and her sister. And the world hadn't come to an end! In fact, it was almost like her life had returned to the way it had once been, at least for this one morning. But did it have to end? Did she really need to stay hidden in her room? Why couldn't it be like this all the time?

Yes, her mother had definitely given her the special birthday she had promised. But couldn't the next day be special too? And the one after that? And...

Things could change. Things could be different. This morning, she even _felt _different. For the first time in years, Elsa felt warmth spreading through her body... from the inside out.

• • •

The king strode purposefully through the palace. He'd been up early, having not slept at all well the night before. Too many years with Ellinor in bed beside him now made it nearly impossible for him to sleep without her there. He had finally abandoned all hope an hour before dawn, and decided to just get started on what, after all, promised to be a very busy day.

And indeed, it had been. Agdar knew of many kings who delegated the day-to-day work of running their realms to various functionaries and ministers. But he himself had never been comfortable with such an arrangement. Naturally, he couldn't do everything on his own, but he felt a deep responsibility to Arendelle and its people to do as much as he could. They put their trust in him, put their lives in his hands. He owed it to them to make sure that the kingdom prospered so that they would prosper in turn. Even if it did mean long hours pouring over tedious mountains of paperwork, or sitting through interminable meetings as he and his advisors considered all the ramifications of one decision after another.

So despite the early start, it was nearly noon before he had finally been able to take a break from his royal duties, in order that he might indulge in one of the far more enjoyable duties of fatherhood instead. He hoped Elsa would understand why he was so late in stopping by to wish her a very happy birthday.

As he neared his daughter's room, however, he began to hear voices. It sounded like Ellinor talking. Well, that wasn't surprising, he supposed. Obviously, she would have wanted to celebrate today with Elsa, too. After all, hadn't that been at the heart of their entire argument the night before? The king almost turned back, not wanting to interrupt his wife's time with their daughter. Plus, truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to face her just yet after how they'd left things last night. But then, he suddenly recognized the story that the queen was in the midst of recounting.

"So anyway, there your father stood: reins in one hand, stirrup in the other. But no horse. And no pants. And your grandfather was just towering over him, glaring down, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. 'Well, son?' he finally boomed out that deep, deep voice he had. 'I'm waiting for an explanation!' And your father, without batting an eye, replied, 'Oh good, I'm waiting for my horse. Shall we wait together?'"

Laughter flowed down the hallway like birdsong in spring. Agdar smiled. Perhaps this wouldn't be so bad after all. With a little luck, Ellinor's jovial mood would help blunt any residual anger she might still be holding against him. It was worth the attempt, anyway. And it _was_ Elsa's birthday, after all. So crossing the last short stretch of hallway in a few long strides, and without even registering the incongruity of Elsa's wide open door, he marched straight into his daughter's room.

"In my own defense," he began, "that horse was..." And then he stopped abruptly as he took in the scene before him. Ellinor was sitting in the window bay, dabbing at her eyes with one hand, her shoulders still shaking slightly with laughter. Elsa was seated next to her, one hand covering her mouth, eyes bright with mirth. Their other hands were clasped lightly together on the cushions between them. And a few feet away, perched on the edge of the bed and still grinning broadly, was...

"Anna! What on earth are you doing in here?" the king snapped, all trace of humor vanishing from his face.

"She's celebrating Elsa's birthday," the queen answered for her daughter, very deliberately ignoring the tone in her husband's voice. "We just finished a second helping of cake, actually, but there's still some left. It's quite delicious. Gerda really outdid herself. Would you like a piece?"

King Agdar turned to his queen. "Ellinor," he said, struggling to keep his voice level. "I thought we had discussed this. In some detail, as I recall. And I believe we had established that it was not a good idea."

"No, dear," his wife replied, her voice still infuriatingly mellow. "_We_ did not establish any such thing. You said that Elsa was not ready to leave her room. And you forbade a celebratory dinner in the parlor. But this isn't dinner. We aren't in the parlor. And Elsa has not, in point of fact, left her room." The queen smiled at him, revealing only the faintest hint of tension at the corners of her mouth. "So I'll ask again. Would you like a piece of cake?"

The king stood his ground, practically vibrating with repressed anger. He was used to having his orders obeyed, without question. He was not accustomed to having them skirted around on a technicality, and certainly not by his other half. Only the presence of his two daughters was keeping him in check. Still, it was through clenched teeth that he replied, "Ellinor, if this is as innocent as you would have me believe, then why am I only finding out about it now? Why didn't you tell me about it beforehand? Could it be – oh, I don't know – that you were perfectly aware that I would not approve?"

At last, the queen's patient facade began to slip. "Of course, dear. I'd like to think that we've been married long enough that I could predict your obstinate bull-headedness once in a while. And besides, secrets appear to have become this family's specialty of late. I didn't figure one more would make that much difference."

It was more than the king could bear. "My god, Ellinor! What were you thinking? This is the height of foolishness. I never would have believed it of you. Don't you realize what could have happened? What could still happen?"

"Nothing happened!" the queen barked back. Then, visibly collecting herself, she continued in a more normal tone. "Nothing except a pleasant morning, which the women of this family spent quietly celebrating a particularly special day." By this point, the tension in the room was more than palpable, regardless of Ellinor's best attempts to keep things civil. Anna kept looking back and forth between her two parents, a look of alarmed confusion on her face. Elsa, for her part, seemed to shrink in on herself, wanting nothing so much as to simply disappear, but hampered by the grip her mother still held on her hand.

"I have heard quite enough," their father rumbled. "We will discuss this later. Anna, come with me. We're leaving."

"Anna, stay right where you are." The king took an involuntary half step backward as the queen's voice turned once again to steel. He could not recall Ellinor ever directly countermanding one of his orders before, so her doing so now came as something of a shock. "Agdar, let me make this very easy for you. Right now, you have only two choices. You can sit down and join us in observing Elsa's birthday. Or you can turn around and leave. It's that simple."

King and queen, husband and wife, father and mother glared at each other in a silent battle of wills. Both convinced that they were perfectly in the right. Neither prepared to give an inch. Two intractable personalities clashing as they never had before. It was the king who finally looked away. But not in surrender.

Instead, without saying a word, he marched over to the bed, lifted Anna up and set her down on the floor. Then he took her by the hand and began to lead her out of the room.

Her mother exploded to her feet from her seat by the window. "How dare you!" she shouted, all attempt at restraint evaporating in an instant. "Agdar, if you take Anna from this room... So help me, I will never forgive you. You have no right!"

Agdar, nearly at the door, whirled around. "I have every right! I am their father! It's my job to protect them. I am your husband. And lest you forget... I. Am. The. King!"

Suddenly, Ellinor heard a sound from behind her. Half gasp, half sob. And when she saw the look on her husband's face, she didn't even need to turn around to know what had happened. Only then did she look down at her right hand... and see the small glove it held. It must have come off when she had leapt to her feet just a moment ago. And now...

The king gave her a withering stare, then scooped Anna up in his arms and carried her out the door. The little princess tried to look back over her father's shoulder, but he turned to block her line of sight, then slammed the door shut behind them.

Ellinor pivoted to face her elder daughter, and the crystals of ice that were still spreading up the window panes. Elsa had turned away, attempting to hide in the corner of the alcove. Her mother could see that she was trying so hard not to cry. Every muscle in her small body was tense and tight, as she fought to keep her pain from showing. _Conceal, don't feel._ Damn you, Agdar.

Mother knelt down beside her daughter. Slowly, tenderly, she reached out and gently grasped her daughter's wrist. Elsa couldn't quite keep herself from flinching slightly. But she didn't resist as the queen lifted her arm away from her hunched form. Ever so carefully, Ellinor pulled the little white glove over the trembling fingers. Then she enfolded her daughter's hand in both of her own, bent down until her forehead pressed against her clasped fingers.

"I am so sorry, Elsa," she whispered. "Please forgive me. I am so, so sorry."


	17. The Damage Done

**A/N: My chapters have titles now. It's something I've wanted to do since the beginning. Apparently, it just took me this long to understand the story I was telling well enough that I could finally find ones that really felt right.**

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King Agdar did not see the queen again the rest of that day. Not even at dinner, which was a rather uncomfortable affair with just him and Anna eating in subdued silence, neither making much conversation or even eye contact. And when Ellinor was once again absent from the royal bedchambers that evening, he was not particularly surprised. Frankly, his own anger was still hot enough that he welcomed the distance, even if it meant another poor night's sleep. It would give them both a chance to cool off, so that they would be able to discuss the situation more rationally when the time came.

But then the next day again passed with no sign of his wife. And the next night. The day after that was hell. Having not had a decent sleep for three nights straight, the king couldn't concentrate on anything. He was irritable. No, he was positively churlish. He snapped at every minor little annoyance, frightened half of his advisors, and caused the rest to suddenly find urgent reasons to be needed outside the castle for the entire afternoon.

Finally, swallowing some measure of his pride, he sought out Gerda in the kitchens to inquire if she might know the queen's whereabouts. "No, Your Majesty." Did she know where the queen had been these last several days? "No, Your Majesty." Did she know how much longer the queen's absence was likely to last? "No, Your Majesty." And so, stymied again, he turned and stalked back out of the kitchens before his seething temper could strike out at yet another innocent bystander.

Well, his foul mood had effectively cleared his schedule for the day. But at least he was sufficiently self-aware to realize it. So he might as well use this time to try to find some way to bring his ire back under control, and restore some semblance of a happy disposition.

Unsurprisingly, thoughts of happiness led to thoughts of his daughters. They had been the joys of his life for so long. And he had been man enough to feel properly ashamed when Ellinor had pointed out to him how much they had both been neglecting Anna during Elsa's crisis – all the more so when she admitted that it had been Elsa herself who had needed to point this out. So he had been trying to make more time for Anna. But she had Marie now too, and spent nearly every free moment that she could with her friend. In fact, he had seen them heading off across the castle grounds from his window right after the midday meal. Who knew how long it would be before they returned.

So the king found his feet carrying him up the steps and down the hallway to his elder daughter's room. He rapped lightly on the door and announced, "Elsa, it's your father. May I come in?" He waited for a response. None came. "Elsa?" he asked again. "Elsa, are you alright?" Still, silence was his only reply. "Sweetheart, I'm coming in." He reached out, grabbed the door handle, and turned.

Except the handle didn't move. Neither did the door. It was locked from the inside.

"Elsa, your door is locked. Would you open it, please, and let me in?" He listened carefully, knowing that if his daughter was in one of her taciturn moods, the only thing he might hear would be the click of the bolt sliding open. But even that small sound did not come to his ears. After perhaps half a minute had passed, he tried the handle again, just to be safe. Sure enough, it remained stubbornly locked.

"Elsa!" And he heard his anger turn that one word into a lash. He winced. If one thing was certain, none of this was his daughter's fault. The last thing he needed to do was to take out his temper on her. So he closed his eyes and counted slowly to ten. And when he finally spoke again, he was pleased to hear his voice at a normal timbre once more. "Elsa, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just... I mean, I'm... That is..."

Agdar rarely found himself at a loss for words. In fact, he prided himself on his quick wit, his ability to always come up with a snappy rejoinder to almost any unexpected remark. So his abruptly tied tongue really brought him up short. Why should he suddenly find himself having such a hard time talking to his daughter, of all people?

_Because,_ his conscience whispered in his ear, _you acted like a callous fool two days ago. Admit it, you actually felt a vindictive pleasure when she lost control of her powers. All you cared about at that moment was that it proved you right and Ellinor wrong. And you didn't spare a moment's thought to how it made your own daughter feel. On her own birthday, nonetheless. What a great and mighty king you are!_

The revelation struck him like a hammer blow. He felt the bile rise in the back of his throat, found himself leaning heavily against the door frame for support. And as if it wasn't bad enough realizing how horribly he'd treated his first born child? It had taken him two whole days! Dear Lord, what must Elsa have been thinking this whole time?

"Oh, Elsa," he finally managed to say somewhat thickly. "Princess, I am so sorry. What I did on your birthday... You must hate me right now. And you have every right to. What I did was inexcusable. I didn't mean to hurt you. I certainly didn't mean to push you over the edge like that. I just... I get so worried. About you. About Anna. And I'm trying to do what's right. Or at least, what I think is right. But sometimes, I just don't know what the right thing is.

"Imagine that. I'm the King of Arendelle. I make decisions every day that affect the lives of thousands of people. And yet, once I make those decisions, I never second guess myself. That doesn't mean I don't make mistakes. But when I do, I just try to correct them as best as I can and move on to the next thing.

"But as your father... I lie awake nights, worrying about both of you girls. Wondering if my best intentions are good enough, or if I'm only making things worse. Wondering if you'll grow up to resent me and the choices I've made on your behalf. Wondering if that would be a price worth paying so long as it means that you both do grow up, safe and strong."

Agdar lapsed into silence. Oh yes, he was so very good with words. But when it came to feelings, his own or anyone else's, he was hopelessly out of his depth. And when the two came together, when he tried to put his feelings into words... Well, he'd just done more of that in the last few minutes than he'd probably done in the last ten years.

"I understand that you don't want to see me or talk to me right now, Elsa. So I'll leave you in peace, or at least in the hope that you can find some peace. But I just want you to know this. I love you. You and your sister and your mother too. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean I won't hurt you sometimes. It only means that I don't _mean_ to hurt you. And that I'll do everything in my power to make it up to you when I do."

The King of Arendelle pushed himself upright. Then, heart heavy in his chest, he turned and walked solemnly away. But as he turned the corner, the door disappearing out of sight behind him, one more painful realization stabbed him like a knife.

_Being shut out like this... This must be how Anna feels every single day._

• • •

"It was horrible, Marie."

Anna leaned her head back against the hard stone of the castle wall and closed her eyes. This was the first time Marie had visited since Elsa's birthday. And when they had left the palace, Anna had not led the way to their favorite spot atop the main guard tower. Marie seemed to pick up on her friend's odd mood, because she didn't question when Anna instead headed around to the rear of the castle and back towards the farthest corner of the grounds.

There was a small spot here where a group of tall, closely spaced bushes had been planted nearly up against the fortifying walls. There wasn't a lot of room behind them, but it was just the right size for two young girls to sit quietly without being seen. Even someone looking out from the castle windows would not be able to spot them. Marie suspected that Elsa must have let Anna in on the secret hideaway when they were younger, but she'd never worked up the courage to ask.

"I mean, it started out so well," Anna continued, opening her eyes just to stare out into space. "Mama and I took Elsa her birthday cake, first thing in the morning. And it was a wonderful cake. Then, after we'd all eaten a piece, we just sat around talking. Just talking! And it was perfect. It was like the old days, like we were a whole family again. Elsa even asked about you, believe it or not. I told her all about your violin lessons. And Mama braided Elsa's hair while we talked, and Elsa looked so happy. I mean, it was only the second time I've seen her up close in almost two years. But I'd bet anything it was the happiest she's been that whole time."

Anna's voice trailed off. There was clearly more that she wanted and needed to say. But Marie judged that this wasn't the time for prodding. Anna just needed to sort through her feelings before she could continue. So instead, Marie simply shifted herself a little closer to her friend so that their arms pressed lightly against once another. Just enough to let Anna know that she was there for her. The other girl apparently got the message, because her shoulders, which had been slowly creeping up toward her ears, relaxed and dropped back down to a more natural position. Still, several minutes passed before she finally spoke again.

"Then Father showed up. It was nearly midday when he walked in. And I'm still not entirely sure what happened next. It all fell apart so quickly. I think he and Mama must have had some sort of argument earlier. Something to do with Elsa. Mama said something about having a special dinner in the parlor, but that we weren't doing that. And Father just kept getting angrier and angrier. And then finally, he walked over, lifted me off the bed, and started walking me out of the room.

"Suddenly, Mama was on her feet, yelling. And the next thing I knew, Father just picked me up and carried me out of the room. I didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to Elsa. I only caught a glimpse of her before the door closed, and she looked terrible. She was curled up in the corner, like she was trying to hide from something.

"Father didn't put me down until we got to my room. He told me I was to stay there until dinner, and then he just left. And when I did go down to dinner, Mama wasn't there. It was just the two of us, Father and me. We didn't talk much."

At last, Anna turned to face Marie. "I wanted to go back and try to visit Elsa again, to at least talk to her from outside her door like I usually do. But I've been too scared. I've never seen Father that angry before. And I haven't seen Mama again since then either." Anna sniffled, and Marie could see her eyes starting to glisten with dampness. "I don't know what to do, Marie. There's nobody I can ask, and I don't know what to do!"

Marie slipped her arm across her friend's shoulders and pulled Anna firmly against her side. Anna turned into the embrace, and soon both girls were holding each other tightly, rocking gently back and forth. One cried in heaving sobs of desperate fear and loneliness. The other let silent tears stream down her cheeks, because her friend was hurting and she had no idea how to help her. Except to just be here for her. She could only hope that would be enough.

Perhaps it was the gentle to and fro of the girls' mutual motion, but something stirred a memory inside Marie's head, and she found herself starting to hum. It was a little aimless at first, but a clear melody soon coalesced from the wandering notes. As she reached the end of the verse, the humming gave way to a lilting croon.

_ Au clair de la lune  
Mon ami Pierrot  
Prête-moi ta plume  
Pour écrire un mot  
Ma chandelle est morte  
Je n'ai plus de feu  
Ouvre-moi ta porte  
Pour l'amour de Dieu _

The rhythm of their swaying slowly shifted to match the languid meter of the song. And beneath her arms, she felt the tremors running through Anna's body gradually beginning to subside.

She continued singing through three more verses before her friend finally pulled away and looked at her. Anna's eyes were red and slightly puffy, but the tears were gone. And they now held a look of utter captivation. "Marie, that was... that was... What was that?"

Marie smiled. "One of my favorite lullabies that my mother always used to sing to me. I'd very nearly forgotten it."

"It was beautiful! And your voice! Oh, Marie. But I couldn't understand the words. Was that... French?"

The other girl nodded. "Both of my parents were born and raised in France, of course. So was I. Well, born at least. I don't remember it very much, though. I think I was only two when we left. Still, most of mother's lullabies were in French. And I'm a passable speaker myself, at need."

The two girls just looked at each other for a while. Then Anna leaned back against the wall again. But her hand reached down and intertwined with Marie's, squeezing tightly. "You have a real gift, Marie. Thank you for sharing it with me. Thank you for listening. Thank you for everything."

• • •

It was late when the door to the royal bedchambers opened. The king looked up from the book he hadn't been reading for the last half hour, and his jaw fell open. "Ellinor! Where have you...? No, never mind. It doesn't matter. Ellinor, I am sorry. What I did was... Well, no matter how much we might have disagreed, there was no excuse for my behavior, and..."

The queen held up her hand, and her husband stumbled to an awkward halt. She stared at him for a very long time, her expression unreadable. Agdar looked back, affecting neither defiance nor deference. He merely presented himself as he was: a man who knew that he had erred mightily, and was ready to submit to whatever justice was set upon him. Finally, Ellinor spoke.

"In answer to your question, I spent most of the afternoon of Elsa's birthday in her room, trying to pick up the pieces that you'd left behind. Then, I spent most of the next day trying to convince her to let me back in. She locked me out, you see, when I left in the middle of the night to check on Anna. Fortunately, this is a good sized palace with a few unused bedrooms, so at least I didn't have to sleep in the middle of the hallway either night. Because it wasn't until the middle of this morning that she finally let me back into her room."

She paused to let the implication of her words sink it. It took several moments before understanding dawned across the king's features. "You? You were inside Elsa's room? Today?" She nodded. "Then you... you heard..." She didn't even bother to nod.

"But if you were in there, if you heard everything, why didn't you speak up? Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you weren't talking to me. You were talking to our daughter. And since I, at least, believe that she's old enough to begin making some decisions on her own, I left it to her to decide how or if she wanted to respond."

Agdar slumped slightly, but he nodded. It was fair enough. He had meant his words for Elsa's ears. Would he have said anything differently had he known that she was not alone? Perhaps. But he had done his best to try and make his daughter understand. He had been honest with her and with himself. Whether or not it had been enough, it had been the best he could do.

Ellinor continued to stare at him, her face still inscrutable. He remained silent, feeling that any attempt to explain himself would only sound like he was making excuses. And he would not do that. What he had done was done. Now, we would face the consequences.

Minutes passed before the queen finally spoke again. "A very wise person once told me that we all make mistakes. Even parents. You made a huge one, Agdar. The fragile confidence that Elsa had finally built back up is now in tatters, and I don't know how long it's going to take to rebuild it again. But I do not expect to continue working alone in the attempt to clean up the mess you made. You need to get back into this family again. Yes, I know that you have a kingdom to run. But that didn't stop you from making time for your girls before Elsa's accident. Arendelle needs its king, but Anna and Elsa need their father. And he hasn't been there for them for far too long. That will change."

The king nodded again. She was right. He had been hiding behind his official duties to keep from having to deal with all the emotions that he simply did not know how to cope with. But he was slowly beginning to realize that there was no magic secret for confronting such feelings. And that his wife and his daughters weren't any better prepared to handle them either. The only difference was that they didn't hide from them. Well, perhaps Elsa did. But then, had he left her any other option?

"Elsa may not be ready for you for a while yet," she went on. "I think she's always found you a little intimidating. Now, I think she's positively frightened of you. I will work with her, try to get her ready to let you back in again. But in the meantime, there's Anna. She didn't visit Elsa either yesterday or today. I'm sure she's scared too, but I don't think it's as personal with her. So that's your first job. Go to her tomorrow and start to help her through this."

"I will," the king promised.

His wife looked at him intently for another long moment. Then she pivoted on her heel, walked over to the closet, and pulled out her nightdress. A minute later, she had changed and was walking back to her side of the bed. She lifted the covers and slipped under them. And if she kept her back to him, and a little more distance between them than usual, Agdar understood. He set his book on the nightstand, snuffed out the candle, and slid down under the blankets himself.

He had just closed his eyes when he heard Ellinor's quiet voice from beside him. "What you said to Elsa this afternoon. I do think it reached her. I'm hopeful that it will help her to open up to you again sooner rather than later.

"After all, it reached me. It was what finally convinced me that there's still hope for you. For us."

"Ellinor, you've always been my hope. You, and then the girls. If anything ever happened to any of you, I don't know what it would do to me. But as long as you're still here by my side, I will never lose hope."

He felt her delicate hand squeeze his just once, and then retreat again.

"I'm still mad at you," she clarified, before shifting herself down deeper beneath the bedclothes.

Agdar smiled faintly. Then he rolled onto his side and soon fell into a deep, much needed sleep.


	18. The Conceit of Guilt

**A/N: I never intended for this birthday saga to last for four chapters. But it affected all the characters so deeply that they just wouldn't let me move on until they all received some measure of closure. I hope this chapter finally gives them that.**

**Meanwhile, on a more personal note, I just wanted to say thank you to all my loyal readers. Fifty favorites in a month's time is pretty amazing. You guys are the best!**

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"Ahem. Sorry to interrupt, Yori."

Prof. Yori Engelstad looked up a little distractedly at the sound of the voice. When he saw who had spoken, he sprang to his feet and bent in a courteous bow. "Not at all, Your Majesty," he said just a little breathlessly. "Is there something that I can do for you today?"

The king smiled. Engelstad had only been a few years out of university when Agdar and Ellinor had chosen him from among all the applicants for the position of tutor to the royal princesses. Several of his advisors had strongly encouraged him to select a more seasoned scholar for the post. But he and his wife had both taken an instant liking to the young man. More importantly, so had the girls. Besides, the fellow had an insatiable curiosity and love of learning that they hoped he would pass on to their daughters. And that unquenchable inquisitiveness had also given him a far broader range of knowledge than many candidates twice his age.

Unfortunately, it also meant that he sometimes displayed the eager attitude of an overexcited pup.

"Again, I have to apologize, Yori," the king replied. "But I was wondering, if it wouldn't be too terribly inconvenient, do you think you could excuse Anna from her lessons, just for today?"

The small redhead looked up suddenly from the book she had been so intent on a second before. Or, the king wondered, had she merely been intent on avoiding her father's gaze?

The tutor glanced at his charge for a moment, then turned back to the king and inclined his head. "Of course, Your Majesty." The young man quickly collected his things from the desk, tucking them efficiently into his valise. Then, bowing one final time, he strode past the king and out the door, leaving father and daughter alone in the small but airy classroom chamber.

Anna had lowered her eyes again – no longer pretending to study her book, but determinedly not looking at her father. It served as another painful reminder to him of just how badly he had allowed their relationship to deteriorate. He turned and took hold of a spare chair that was sitting against the wall near the door. Lifting it a few inches off the floor, he carried it over and placed it at the end of Anna's desk. Then, taking a seat, he focused his full attention on his daughter.

"Anna," he began. "We need to talk."

The little girl squeezed her eyes tightly shut for a moment. Then she said, in a painfully subdued voice, "I'm sorry, Papa."

The king blinked, suddenly sitting up a little straighter. "Sorry? Anna, whatever on earth for?"

She sniffled once before continuing. "For making you mad by going with Mama to visit Elsa. For whatever I did that caused Elsa to have to hide in her room like this. For..."

"No. No, no, no, Anna. Oh, sweetheart! How could you think that any of this is your fault?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? I'm the one that Elsa's been shutting out this whole time. She lets you and Mama into her room. She talks to you. But I've only seen her, only spoken with her twice in two years. One of those times, we had an argument. And she told me that she was afraid of... of me. So it seems pretty clear that it was something I did that scared her so badly that she can't bear to see me now.

"Then on her birthday, when you got... when you were so angry. It couldn't have been because Mama was there with Elsa; she's with Elsa all the time. So it had to be because I was there. I didn't want to cause any trouble, Papa. Really I didn't. I just... I wanted to celebrate with Elsa. To spend a little time with her again. I thought maybe, with Mama there, it'd be okay. And it seemed like it was, for a while, until..."

Agdar felt his throat tighten painfully. Getting out of his chair, he came around the corner of the table and knelt on the floor next to his daughter. He reached into her lap and grasped the hands that lay limply there, pulling on them gently until she turned toward him. Bending even lower, trying to catch her eyes, he said, "None of this – none of it – is your fault. Do you understand?" There was no response. "Anna, it isn't. I swear to you."

He sighed heavily. "It isn't anyone's fault. Not yours, not Elsa's. If there is any burden of guilt to bear, it's mine and mine alone. It was my decision to move your sister out of your room, not hers. And I overreacted so horribly three days ago. I should not have done what I did, taking you out of the room like that.

"Anna, I didn't come here today to scold you. I came to apologize to you! I have made so many mistakes, because they seemed like the right things to do. And I'm probably going to continue making more of them, because... because right and wrong aren't always as easy to tell apart as they are in your storybooks. I want to do right by you and your sister. I want to protect you and keep you safe. And I want you to feel happy and loved. But somehow, I find myself in a situation where it seems like I have to choose between one or the other. How do I make a choice like that?"

The king felt a surge of relief loosening his chest when, at long last, Anna lifted her head just enough to look him in the eye. He latched onto that connection, the intensity of his gaze refusing to let it break again. "Princess, I know you can't hope to understand all of this. Certainly not when there are so many things that you don't know and that I can't tell you – though maybe that will wind up being another of my mistakes. But if it makes you feel any better, even knowing what I know, I don't really understand it all either."

He reached out to his daughter, tucking an errant lock of ginger hair back behind her ear. Then he cupped his hand just under her jawline and lifted her head so he could look her squarely in the eye. "I love you, Anna. Your mother loves you. And Elsa loves you too. She's just... having a hard time showing it right now." He cleared his throat, a little self-consciously. "I'm afraid she may have inherited that nasty little problem from me."

The perplexed look on Anna's face nearly made Agdar laugh. "Sweetheart, I haven't exactly been the best father to you these last few years. I haven't made the time for you that I should have. I haven't been there for you. I've left you to fend for yourself during two of the worst years this family has ever been through."

Anna thought back to a painfully similar conversation that she'd had not so very long ago with Marie. "That's okay, Papa," she replied. "I understand. You've had a lot to worry about. And you've been busy running the kingdom. I know that takes a lot of work. Besides, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself!"

At this, her father did allow himself a small chuckle. "Yes, you can," he acknowledged, leaning forward and kissing her once on her forehead. "But you shouldn't have to. And from now on, you won't have to. Starting today, I'm going to try to be the father that I should have been this whole time. In fact, I've cleared my entire day today, just to spend it with you. We can do whatever you like. It's entirely your choice. So... what do you want to do first?"

He watched his little girl consider the question thoughtfully for a long while. When she finally replied, her answer took him more than a little by surprise.

"Could we just... keep talking?"

King Agdar of Arendelle smiled. "Of course, princess."

• • •

_Just keep talking,_ Queen Ellinor repeated to herself for the thousandth time. It had become like a mantra to her these last few days.

The hours immediately after her daughter's ill-fated party had mostly been spent in a painful silence. Elsa had been like a raw nerve then. Every noise, every touch made her body tense up. The queen had tried her best to soothe her by gently rubbing her back, her arms. But it hadn't seem to help. At best, Elsa seemed willing to tolerate it. More often, though, it only seemed to increase her anxiety. Still, Ellinor had persisted, hoping her gentle touch would eventually penetrate Elsa's pain.

Then late that night, when she thought Elsa had finally managed to find the temporary peace of sleep, she had quietly slipped out to look in on Anna. Naturally, her younger daughter had been asleep as well. But the sweet serenity that her face normally wore at night was missing. Her brow was furrowed and beaded with sweat, and she was mumbling something unintelligible. Anna rarely had bad dreams, but that night had obviously been an exception.

Her mother had settled quietly onto the edge of her daughter's bed and brushed the damp locks of hair off the princess's forehead. She had rubbed Anna's shoulder through her blanket and whispered soothing words until the nightmare finally faded. Then, brushing a kiss across her daughter's cheek, she had left as quietly as she had arrived and returned to Elsa's room.

To find the door locked. She had called out quietly, asking Elsa to unlock the door and let her back in. She coaxed and cajoled for half an hour before concluding that she was getting nowhere. She could, of course, have gone and fetched the key and opened the door from the outside. But she feared that, in Elsa's current state, she would see that as some sort of violation or betrayal. No, it had to be her daughter's decision to let her back in.

So she had retreated to the closest spare bedroom, as yet unwilling to face her husband in their private bedchambers. Then, first thing the next morning, she had returned to Elsa's room once again... and she had begun to talk. She didn't immediately return to the topic of the locked door, however. Instead, she had talked about things she remembered of Elsa's childhood. Of lazy afternoons spent reading poetry in the library. Of the laughter filled morning when a very young Elsa had tried to "help" Gerda bake a tray of cookies, and the hours the three of them had spent cleaning up afterward.

She talked of the joy she had felt when she had learned that she was pregnant with her first child. She related how the king had spent weeks upon weeks planning the nursery, seeking out the perfect crib, searching for the ideal color for the walls, personally picking out every single toy and knick-knack that would become his newborn's first playthings. And then she recalled how, once Elsa had been born, the king had been unable to bear to leave his beautiful daughter all alone in another room, even if it was just next door. And so the crib had been moved into their bedchambers, and Elsa had slept alongside them for many months thereafter.

She went on about all the little things that a parent never forgets. Elsa's first word, her first steps. How her love of poetry had begun at an early age when Ellinor, desperate to find a way to silence Elsa's wailing late one night, had grabbed a book that just happened to be close at hand and began to read aloud. And how Elsa's crying had soon diminished to a whimper, and then to silence, and finally to sleep.

She spoke of her own childhood, growing up in the lush mountain vales surrounding Arendelle. She told stories of the small adventures she'd had with her own brother and sister. She recalled the joy and the pain, the love and the loss. She told how, when she was old enough, she had made the difficult decision to leave her family homestead and move to the seaside town near the royal palace. She spoke of the heart rending sadness when she had said her goodbyes, and the giddy excitement when her carriage had first brought her within sight of the magnificent castle.

An old friend of her mother's had found a position for her in town as a seamstress, a job she had some skill at thanks to many years spent mending her family's clothes. Moreover, she'd agreed to let Ellinor live with her until the young woman could find her own accommodations. Actually, since she and her husband had never had children of their own, both of them seemed quite happy to have her about. And because she always helped out with the cooking and cleaning and other household chores, it worked well for all of them. So well, in fact, that when Ellinor had finally decided that she had saved up enough that she could begin to look for a place of her own, Gerda had come right out and insisted that she give up any such foolish notion and stay with them as long as she liked.

The queen had spent that entire day outside Elsa's door, talking until she was hoarse. She had hoped that the steady sound of her voice would be enough to help calm her poor stricken child, enough to get her to open up again, literally and figuratively. But the sun had set, the door was still locked, and Ellinor was tired, hungry, and sore. So she snuck down to the kitchen, made a hasty meal from whatever she could find easily, and then retired once again to her temporary sleeping quarters.

The next morning, she had resumed her vigil... and her story. She decided to begin by telling Elsa of that day in the marketplace. She had simply gone out for a walk that afternoon to enjoy all the sights and sounds and busy energy of the shops and stalls and sellers and buyers. As she threaded her way through the crowd, listening to the friendly chatter of artful haggling going on all around her, a flash of brilliant color had caught her eyes. She had turned her head to look, and caught sight of the most beautiful bolt of fabric. Far too fine for her humble salary, of course, but that didn't prevent her from admiring it keenly.

Too keenly, it turned out. For a second later, she suddenly found herself fighting madly to keep her balance after bouncing off something tall and unyielding.

Though she staggered several steps backward, she felt quite proud of herself when she was finally able to regain her footing without the need for any assistance. But when she had then looked back up to see the handsome young man with whom she had collided, she found herself vaguely regretting that there had been no need for him to lend her his hand.

Now this would have been the point where, in one of the epic romances tucked away on the shelves of the library, the gallant nobleman (for he was too finely dressed to be anything else) would have begged her forgiveness for his own clumsiness and, having taken note of the fine cloth that had distracted her, would have offered to buy a generous length of it for her as an apology. Then he would have swept her off to his estate and a whirlwind courtship full of glamor and romance.

And he did, in fact, apologize and ask if she was alright. Once she had confirmed as much, however, he had smiled politely, nodded to her, and continued walking on. And so did she. This meant that she wasn't looking in the young man's direction when he, in fact, turned to look back over his shoulder after her, watching her until the press of bodies had hidden her from his sight.

That was the first time that Ellinor of the mountain vale met Prince Agdar of Arendelle. It would not be the last. For the prince began to make it a point to visit the marketplace far more often than he had in the past, hoping that he might encounter her again. And he did, once or twice. He would stop her, they would exchange a few pleasant if formal words, and then they would move on. Ellinor thought nothing more of it than a high-born gentleman making an attempt to get to know the common folk. A bit eccentric, perhaps, but not unheard of.

Agdar, however, had not been content with these few short exchanges and chance meetings. Soon, he began inquiring upon the merchants in the square after the fetching brunette who would sometimes walk amongst the aisles, often seeming to linger around the drapers' stalls. It took him a while to attach a name to the face. It took even longer to find out where the young woman lived. But find out he did.

And so it was that, one fine summer's evening, there was a knock on Gerda's door. When the lady of the house opened it in response, she immediately recognized the king's only son standing on her front step. "Your Highness!" she exclaimed, dropping into a deep curtsy.

"Oh, um," Agdar had stammered. Not exactly sure why he had expected someone else to answer the door, he recovered quickly. "Is there, by any chance, a young lady living with you, who goes by the name of Ellinor?"

Gerda straightened up again. She couldn't keep from quickly glancing over the young prince, head to toe. Then, with a look of mingled surprise and mischief on her face, she called back into the house. "Ellinor? There's someone here to see you."

So the young seamstress had come to the door. And, recognizing the nobleman that she had occasionally run into in the marketplace (once quite literally), she had nodded politely and offered a prim, "Good evening, sir."

It was at that point that Gerda had clouted her heavily on her shoulder. "Silly girl. Don't you know who this is?" But before the older woman could enlighten her, their guest held up his hand.

"No, please. It's quite alright. And entirely my fault for not having properly introduced myself to your young boarder earlier." He bowed deeply. "Please forgive me, Ellinor," he said. Then he straightened and, with a flourish, produced a bright bouquet of crocuses that he had, until that moment, been hiding behind his back. "My name is Agdar, Crown Prince of Arendelle."

For years afterward, Ellinor was never quite sure how she had contrived to not faint at that moment. But somehow, she managed to just turn a brilliant shade of scarlet, whack her elbow into the door frame as she scrambled to curtsy, and make a tight squeaking noise that could perhaps have been generously interpreted as a "Hello."

Thus began the courtship of Agdar and Ellinor.

There was a soft click. Barely audible though it was, it snapped the queen instantly back to the present. She had leaped to her feet from where she had been sitting on the floor of the hallway. Then she had reached out and tested the handle. It turned, and the door reopened at last.

She had entered to find Elsa standing just within the entrance. As soon as the queen was inside, Elsa quickly pushed the door shut and locked it once more. Well, the queen thought, at least letting one person in is a start.

That had been late yesterday morning. She had spent the rest of that day in Elsa's room, and was back again today. And except for the brief time during Agdar's visit, she kept quietly talking to her daughter. She knew Elsa was listening, or else she never would have opened the door in the first place. But the princess gave no outward sign. She simply sat on the bench by her window, looking out over the sun drenched grounds.

It reminded Ellinor of a frightening time earlier that spring, when she had found Elsa sitting on her bed in a near oblivious stupor. Except that this was somehow subtly different, and that difference was encouraging. Because last time, it had seemed like Elsa had simply shut down – that she no longer cared enough to notice what was happening to or around her. Now, however, it felt more like she was simply focused inward, too preoccupied with her own thoughts to spare much attention for the rest of the world at the moment.

The queen coughed. Then she coughed again. And suddenly, she couldn't stop coughing, until she grabbed the glass of water she had brought with her that morning and downed several grateful gulps. She had been talking for two days straight. And the fact that the last day had been mostly spent in hushed tones was the only thing that had kept her from losing her voice entirely. Still, she didn't know how much longer she could keep this up. So she had all the more reason for the wonderful sense of relief that blossomed in her chest when Elsa finally stirred and spoke.

"Why did it have to be this way, Mother?"

Ellinor sighed, and replied hoarsely, "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know you want to spend more time with your sister. But your father, he's just scared. And a little overprotective. He..."

But Elsa was shaking her head. "No, Mother. That's not what I meant. I mean, why did _I_ have to be this way? Why do I even have these powers?"

The queen hesitated, trying to decide how to answer such a question. Finally, she settled on, "I don't know, Elsa. I wish I did. When we first noticed your... abilities, we of course tried to find out where they could have come from. Neither your father nor I knew of any history of such magic in either of our families. So we made discreet inquiries of anyone we thought might have knowledge of such things. But we were never able to uncover any answers."

"So not only are my powers not normal, they're completely unheard of. But then, they'd have to be, wouldn't they? If there had been others like me, then maybe people would have already gotten used to the idea. Maybe I wouldn't have to always be afraid that somebody might find out.

"If it weren't for this... this curse, then everything would be fine. The castle gates would be open. I could live a normal life, instead of having to hide inside this room. You and Father wouldn't have to be afraid any more. And Anna and I could be friends again. But instead, it's all twisted and wrong. Because of me.

"I hate my powers. I hate them!" Elsa spat the words out as if their taste was intolerable. Then, her voice and her face fell. "And I hate mys-."

"NO!" The exclamation was so violent and vehement that Elsa jumped. For the first time in days, she looked at her mother. "Don't you ever say that! Don't you even _think_ it!" Ellinor closed the distance between her and her daughter in an instant, then reached up, gripped Elsa by the shoulders, and squeezed tightly "There is nothing, _nothing _here to hate. You are my beautiful girl. You are wonderful and smart and caring and kind. Your father and I love you more than life itself. We would make any sacrifice, any at all, to keep you safe and happy. So don't you worry about us."

"But Anna..."

"Exactly. How can you hate yourself when your sister so clearly adores you? Do you think she would come sit by your door every single day if you didn't mean the world to her? Do you think anyone who has earned that kind of love and loyalty is someone worthy of hatred?

"I know how hard all of this has been for you, especially being separated from Anna. So hate the circumstances that make that necessary. Even hate your father and me if you must, for making you do these things. But never, ever hate yourself, Elsa. If more people in this world had a heart as open and giving as yours, then you would never need to hide from anyone ever again."

Then Ellinor slid her arms around her daughter's shoulders and pulled her close against her chest. She felt Elsa stiffen and try to pull away, but that only made her cling all the tighter. She knew her daughter needed this, even if Elsa didn't believe it herself.

Perhaps a minute passed before the queen felt her child's taut body finally loosen. Then it began to tremble. She looked down with concern. Elsa's cheek was resting against her mother's bosom. But there were no tears there, and no sobs. Only a look of complete release, of liberating emotions that had been held inside for far too long.

The queen rested her chin atop her daughter's pale blonde head, stroking her hair gently. _That's right, Elsa,_ she thought silently. _Let it all out. Let it go._

• • •

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._ "Psst, Elsa. It's me, Anna." Elsa allowed herself a wan smile. Of course, it was her sister. As if the knock hadn't been a dead giveaway.

She was alone in her room again, the lowering sun just kissing the tops of the mountains outside her window. Her mother had finally left a few hours earlier, after Elsa had assured her repeatedly that she was absolutely feeling better now. She had been able to tell, by the shrewd look in the queen's eye, that the relative nature of "better" had not escaped her mother. But eventually, she had apparently decided that better was, at least in this case, sufficient for the time being. So, after giving her daughter a parting kiss and a loving smile, she had left.

But now, Elsa had another visitor.

Anna's voiced drifted to her once again from the other side of the door. "I wanted to stop by and say that... Well, that I really enjoyed getting to spend the morning with you the other day. Even with everything that came after. It was totally worth it just to sit and talk with you again for those few hours. And I'm sorry that..." There was a pause, then a sigh. "I wish that things could have ended better. And I really hope this doesn't mean that I won't get to see you again."

The second pause was longer than the first, but not by much. "I had another reason for coming too. You see, it took me a while, but I suddenly realized that I hadn't gotten you anything for Midsummer's Eve. By then, of course, it was too late. But the good news was that I knew your birthday was coming up. The bad news was, that with all the... erm... excitement, I completely forgot to give you your present. So..."

A thin parcel wrapped in brown paper and tied with coarse twine was squeezed under the door. "I hope you like it. I wanted to get you something to help pass the time while you're stuck in there all by yourself. I mean, even you can't read _all_ the time. So I thought and thought, and then I finally had this idea. I'm not sure if you'll like it. And if you don't, that's okay, I understand. But I hope you do."

Curiosity getting the better of her, Elsa crossed the room and picked up the package. She tugged on the twine, quickly undoing the simple knot. Then she unfolded the plain wrapping and examined the contents within. It was a thin wooden box, about the side of a sheet of writing paper. There was a catch along one long edge and two brass hinges on the other. Silently lifting the latch, she spread the two halves of the box apart and looked inside.

"I remembered when we were kids and we used to draw together with our crayons," Anna explained. "Half of the time, even I couldn't tell what I'd drawn when I finished. But your drawings were always so pretty. You always had such an incredible imagination! Of course, you've never been bad at anything that you put your mind to. Not like me. But anyway, I don't know if you kept that up or not, or ever thought about trying it again. So if you aren't interested, that's fine..."

The box was full of pencils – every one a different thickness, a different hardness. One corner even held a few square sticks of charcoal for really broad strokes and dark shading. All told, there were several dozen drawing implements, providing a broad palette for everything from quick sketches to painstakingly detailed studies.

And no, Elsa had never given any thought to drawing this entire time she'd spent in her room. Now that the seed had been planted, however, she found that the notion was quickly beginning to take root. She imagined the pictures that filled her mind when she read her favorite poems, and wondered if she could capture them on the page. Abstract, crystalline patterns that she frequently found bouncing around inside her head now might have an avenue to escape. The more she thought about it, the more the ideas excited her.

Anna's voice piped up once again, though it now seemed to contain a hint of hesitancy. "Well, it's the thought that counts, right? That's what Gerda always says, anyway. So if nothing else, I hope at least that when you look at it, you'll think of me... and know that I'm thinking of you too. Have a good night, Elsa."

"Thank you, Anna," Elsa breathed almost soundlessly into the silence that followed. She looked back down in wonder at the gift she held lightly in her hands, all the possibilities spinning through her mind like a kaleidoscope. Then she started so badly, the box almost fell from her fingers.

"You're welcome," came the quiet voice from the other side of the door. "Happy birthday."


	19. An Isolated Conspiracy

"Good morning, Kai."

"Good morning, Your Majesty."

The palace steward waited quietly while King Agdar crossed his study and positioned himself behind his heavy mahogany desk. As steward, Kai was responsible for the day to day running of the palace itself. It was his job to see to it that everything ran like clockwork, so that the king could focus on the important matters of state.

In order to do that properly, however, Kai had to make certain that he knew everything that was going on each and every day: what visitors would be calling and when, if they would be staying for meals, if certain rooms would need to be made ready for meetings or special events. In fact, over the years, Kai had become so adept at this duty that he usually knew the agenda for the day better than even the king himself.

So it was that, in addition to his stewardship, he also became something of a personal assistant to the king. Almost every morning after breakfast, the king would retreat here to his study and begin his day by reviewing with Kai the schedule of activities that stretched out before him.

This usually began with the king looking at the steward and asking, "So, what do we have planned for today?" Sometimes, the question would be delivered in a chipper and jocular tone, with the king leaning back in his chair and smiling at Kai. Other days, it sounded like the devil himself was drawing the words out of the king's throat, and their eyes only met from beneath the king's furrowed brows. Still, the words were always there. It wasn't quite a ritual, and yet rather more than just a habit.

This morning, however, the king did not look at Kai. Nor did he ask his customary question. In fact, he wasn't even facing in the steward's direction at all. Instead, he was standing with his back to the room, staring out the window at the pale morning light.

Kai waited patiently for several minutes. Then he waited impatiently for a few more. He had finally opened his mouth to inquire as to the cause for the king's distraction when the other man broke the silence instead.

"You have a son, don't you, Kai?"

A considerable span of time passed before Kai finally realized that he had not yet gotten around to closing his mouth. This he did, but only because his brain, which had been absolutely prepared to answer a completely different question, suddenly found itself at a woeful loss in the face of this unexpected turn of events. In the end, it inevitably fell back on the good old, time tested, tried and true response that had served men in Kai's position remarkably well for generations.

"Your Majesty?"

At last, the king turned around to face his aide. The expression on his features was... what, exactly? Wistful? Nostalgic? Kai couldn't quite place it, but it was certainly not something he was used to seeing there.

The ruler of Arendelle cocked his head, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "I thought it was a fairly straightforward question."

Finally collecting himself, the steward nodded. "I do, Your Majesty. He's first mate on a ship of the merchant marine."

"Tell me, what was it like raising a boy?"

Kai stared at the king, finding himself dumbstruck yet again, and feeling doubly disconcerted by this fact. "I beg your pardon, Your Majesty. I'm not sure how to answer that question."

Agdar allowed himself a deep breath before replying. "Please, don't get me wrong, Kai. I adore my daughters. I think you know that. I wouldn't trade them for anything. In fact, I would _give_ anything to protect them. But sometimes – far more often, that I'd like to admit – it just feels like we're complete strangers to one other. It's as if... as if..."

"As if you have so little in common that you wonder how you can possibly be related?"

The king stared at the older man before nodding. "Yes. Yes, that's it exactly. How did you...?"

"Your Majesty," Kai began. This conversation was making him decidedly uncomfortable. It wasn't as if the king had never spoken to him about the princesses before. However, that had always been casual chatter about their latest accomplishments or escapades. All that had ever been expected of the steward in response was a smile and a nod, perhaps an occasional appreciative remark. But in all their years of working together, King Agdar had never once looked to Kai for anything so personal as... parenting advice? And yet, with the subject now broached, he felt compelled to answer it, as he answered all such questions put to him, to the best of his ability.

"Your Majesty," he tried again, choosing his words carefully. "I don't believe that what you're describing has anything to do with daughters versus sons. It has to do with being a parent. Our children, as much as we might sometimes like them to be, are not just smaller versions of ourselves. They are each their own person, with their own interests, their own dreams, and their own bizarre little quirks of personality.

"We can influence them, surely. In fact, we cannot help but influence them, even in ways we never intend. But they will do what they will do. That is something that we cannot control. Most often, the best that we can hope for, if we have done our jobs well, is that whatever they do, they will do it in such a way that we can see that they have learned well from our teachings.

"Take my son. He is a mighty seaman. Started off as a deckhand, same as any other sailor. Then he worked his way up by putting in long hours and doing his best at every task that was given to him. I couldn't be prouder of him. And yet, I can get nauseous just looking at a rocking boat for too long. So I have no idea how my Karl ever came to find his love of the sea. But I am glad that he did, because it has brought so much joy into his life. It was even responsible for him meeting his wife, and they have given me two beautiful grandchildren whom I love dearly."

It was at this point that Kai finally registered the penetrating focus that the king had fixed him with this entire time. Suddenly self-conscious, and awkwardly aware of the uncharacteristic familiarity with which he had been speaking, he stood up straighter, clasped his hands behind his back, and fell silent.

The king's gaze did not waver. Yet some portion of it seemed to turn inward, as if he was examining his own experiences, seeing them afresh when viewed under this new light. At length, he nodded. "You're quite right, of course. But I'm afraid it's more than just that. What do you do when you've allowed the distance to grow so great that you don't even know how to begin to bridge it? When you no longer are even sure who your child is? Or..."

_Or who you are?_ Kai felt certain those were the words not spoken. It was no secret that there had been a mighty row recently between King Agdar and Queen Ellinor, and that the princesses were somehow in the middle of it. Or at least, if it was a secret, it was the worst kept one in the entire castle. So Kai thought be began to see from whence some of this morning's unprecedented behavior had originated.

Steeling himself, and hoping his answers would not be considered so forward as to cost him his job, Kai focused somewhere over the king's right shoulder and then spoke again.

"Your Majesty is a skilled negotiator. I have often heard you say that the key to any successful negotiation lies in finding common ground. Or, if common ground cannot be found..."

"Then making it," the king finished his own quote. His tone indicated that he clearly did not yet see what this had to do with the question he had asked, but that he was willing to play along for the moment.

The steward nodded once before continuing. "Even when faced with skeptics who insisted that no common ground could possibly be either found or formed, Your Majesty never recanted that belief. Because, as you would inevitably tell them, 'There is always common ground, however small, for we are all human.'"

Kai couldn't keep his eyes from drifting over to meet the king's. "It's far too easy to forget that our children are not just children. They are human too."

The steward saw the king's Adam's apple bob beneath his collar as he swallowed heavily. His Majesty opened his mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. As if to hide the lapse, he turned around and once again gazed out the window. After a few moments of difficult silence, the king straightened his shoulders, gave a sharp tug to the hem of his jacket, then nodded once to his reflection in the glass.

"Thank you, Kai," he said. Then, pivoting on his heel, he covered the distance to his desk in a single stride, sat down purposefully in his chair, and finally tilted his head up to look expectantly at the steward. "So, what do we have planned for today?"

• • •

"His Majesty is in a peculiar mood today," Kai announced as he entered the kitchen.

Gerda responded without even looking up from her work. "Is this his regular peculiar, or peculiar peculiar?"

Kai considered the question as he examined the contents of the fruit bowl on the counter. Finally selecting a promising looking pear, he gave his answer. "The latter, I think. He asked me for parenting advice."

Only years of diligence and practice kept Gerda from inflicting bodily harm on herself as the knife she'd been using to chop carrots very nearly slipped from between her fingers. "You?" she asked, disbelief dripping from her voice, as she carefully set the cutting implement aside and wiped her hands in her apron.

Taking a bite of his pear, Kai nodded, privately enjoying the kitchen lady's discomfiture. As she continued to stare at him in disbelief, he swallowed his mouthful of fruit and confirmed aloud what he'd already indicated. "Yes, me."

Gerda snorted a laugh. "And did you, by any chance, happen to mention the fact that your son refused to speak to you for nearly five whole years?"

Kai put on a show of attempting to recall the conversation that had just ended. "Mmm, not that I can recall, no," he finally answered. "Somehow, that little matter never came up. Besides, that was all just a big misunderstanding. We've long since reconciled and all has been forgiven."

"A misunderstanding?" his friend scoffed. "A misunderstanding that caused your son to join the merchant marine!"

"Now be fair, Gerda! Karl was already leaning towards that career choice at the time anyway. At the worst, it only accelerated his decision by a few months. And if he hadn't joined, he might never have met Helene. So really, it worked out for the best for everyone."

She glared at him, just to make it clear that she didn't buy into his rationalizations for even a second. But since this was all old news, and she was far more interested in current affairs, she decided to let the matter drop. Mostly. "And what, pray tell, inspired the king to seek advice on fatherhood from such an expert in the field?"

The steward had to swallow yet another bite before he could reply. "Well, being the man that he is, he really didn't ask much of anything directly. But it was pretty clear that he feels like he allowed at least one of his daughters, maybe both, to grow too far away. And now that he realizes it, he's not sure how to go about reconnecting with her. Or them."

Gerda nodded appraisingly. "That sounds about right." Then she sighed heavily. "I wish I knew what was going on with that family. I mean _really_ going on. Why Elsa remains holed up in her room nearly all the time now. Why they shut the castle gates and reduced the staff the way they did. At first, I thought maybe the poor girl was deathly ill, and they just wanted to reduce the chances of her passing it on to anyone else. But they never called for a physician, and two years would surely have been more than enough time for any such disease to have run its course."

Now it was Kai's turn to nod. "Between the two of us, you would have thought we'd have been able to put more of the pieces together by now. Who would have guessed that those two would be this good at keeping secrets?"

"There's nothing good about secrets like these," Gerda replied quietly, concern darkening her voice. "Mark my words. Something like this – whatever this is – can't stay hidden forever. And when the truth finally comes out, it will cause even more pain and tears than we've seen so far."

Kai could only agree with her assessment. "Especially for Anna. It seems clear that she's as much in the dark about whatever is going on as either of us. And that may be the biggest mystery of all. I can understand that there might be something personal, within the family, that Agdar and Ellinor would simply not feel was anybody else's business to know. But why would they keep Anna in the dark all this time? Especially if that secret is what's keeping her sister locked away from her like this. They must see what that's doing to her. I can only assume it's doing the same to Elsa as well."

Gerda shook her head. "I don't know." It wasn't like they hadn't had this exact same discussion dozens of times already. She had tried to covertly wheedle information from both Ellinor and Anna, though it had soon become clear that the latter had none to give. Kai, who didn't enjoy as close a relationship with the king as Gerda shared with the queen, nevertheless kept his eyes and ears open for any scrap or tidbit that might shed some light on the situation.

They'd picked over the problem from every angle they could think of, analyzed every scrap of conversation either of them had engaged in or overheard with the king and queen. And yet, they were still no further along in unraveling the mystery. It was painfully frustrating, but they both refused to give up. They had spent too many years in devoted service to this family. They would not abandon their charges now when they so clearly needed every ally they could find.

"Well, at least there might be a bright side to this morning's unusual development," Kai finally spoke again. He had finished his pear and was now rolling the core back and forth between his fingers. "The king opened up to me, at least a little."

"Yes, that is promising. Although I had rather hoped it would happen eventually," Gerda commented. When she saw the look of surprise on Kai's face, she went on. "Well, think about it. Who else does he have to talk to? What friends does he have? Agdar was never exactly the sociable sort. The more I got to know him while he was courting Ellinor, the more amazed I became that he ever actually managed to bring himself to my front door in the first place.

"Oh, he hides it well. He's quite good at making speeches in front of crowds, even at making them laugh. And he's perfectly charming at formal dinners or when meeting with foreign ambassadors and such. But that's just it. Those are _formal_ affairs. He has to be courteous, he has to be friendly, but he never has to open up to anyone. To be perfectly honest, I sometimes wonder if he's ever even truly opened up with his own wife.

"And yet he meets with you nearly every single day, and he trusts you to oversee practically everything that he doesn't handle himself. If that isn't a friend, then it may still be the closest thing he has to one."

"Well..." Kai found that he had to cough once or twice before he could continue. "Well then, maybe an almost-friend can find out some things that a simple steward could not."

"Perhaps. But don't you dare abuse his trust, Kai. Right now, I think the king needs a friend more than we need answers. So don't push matters. Remember, my friendship with Ellinor didn't develop overnight. We've known each other for years upon years now, and yet there are clearly things she still doesn't feel she can confide to me.

"So just be there for Agdar, like you always have been. And should he open up to you again, do what you can for him. For I do believe that our king is a very lonely man."

Kai nodded somberly. "'Heavy is the head that wears the crown,'" he quoted.

Gerda smiled a little sadly. "That's why kings and queens need people like us, my dear friend. To help lighten the load."

The steward of Arendelle Palace tossed the last of his pear into the garbage pail and wiped his fingers off with a rag near the sink. Then, as he turned and made his way back towards the door, he reached out and quickly gave Gerda's hand an affectionate squeeze.

"That's what friends are for," he said quietly. They smiled at each other, exchanging looks of tenderness born out of decades of mutual fondness and caring.

Then Kai turned and left the kitchen, off to face another busy day of keeping the palace running. Gerda returned to her carrots, and to the perplexing mysteries of the Royal Family of Arendelle.


	20. Mightier Than the Sword

"Draw your sword, you traitorous scum!"

"You dare to slander me with such vile lies? You will live to regret that... but not for long!"

The duelists faced one another, weapons held at guard position between them. For a moment, the two stood still as statues, each sizing up their opponent warily. Then, as if in response to some unheard signal, both moved at once. As their swings collided, their arms shook with the force of the blow. The courtyard resounded with a mighty... thwack?

Marie grinned. Playing with Anna was always an adventure – often quite literally! Unlike so many other girls her age that she had known, her newest and dearest friend wasn't just about dolls and pretend tea parties. Her idea of a fun afternoon was just as likely to involve climbing the masts of mighty ships far out to sea (any of the many trees scattered throughout the castle grounds), pursuing the magical goose to find the nest where it lay its golden eggs (Marie couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the poor ducks who just wanted a quiet swim in the pond), or perhaps a bit of deadly swordplay (with a pair of loose sticks they'd found under the cherry tree).

Anna, fully in character, flashed a devil-may-care smile of her own. "So, you have some skill with a blade! I am impressed. But it won't be enough to save you!" She leaped back, only to immediately lunge forward again, thrusting with the end of her branch – sorry, saber. Or was it a rapier? Either way, Marie hurriedly sidestepped, attempting an awkward parry that barely connected. She then gambled on a spinning, backhanded slash, trying to go on the offensive before her opponent could turn and defend herself.

Unfortunately, said opponent had somehow managed to trip herself and now sprawled face first on the grass. Marie, suddenly finding herself with too much momentum and nothing to stop it, lost her balance as well. A moment later, she hit the ground hard, momentarily knocking the wind out of her lungs.

By this time, Anna had rolled over onto her back. She looked over at her friend. Marie, wincing a little at her slightly sore shoulder, returned the look.

Anna raised her eyebrows. Marie rolled her eyes.

Anna stuck out her tongue. Marie scrunched up her nose.

Anna grinned. Marie giggled.

Then suddenly, both girls burst out into peals of uncontrollable laughter.

They were still gasping for breath a minute later when a tall shadow unexpectedly blocked out the afternoon sun. Marie squinted up, struggling for a moment to make out a face amidst the halo of bright light surrounding it.

"Oh, hello, Papa!" Anna helpfully supplied the newcomer's identity.

Marie couldn't help but blush at being caught in such a ridiculous position by the king himself. She scrambled to her feet and sketched a small curtsy. "Your Majesty."

King Agdar grimaced. "I don't know what it is," he said, shaking his head, "but every time a child bows to me, it always leaves me feeling like some sort of evil tyrant. Now, considering your close friendship with my daughter, I do believe that's one formality we can dispense with going forward. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And while we're at it, you also needn't call me 'Your Majesty' after everything you say."

"Alright."

The king blinked, then chuckled. "I'm beginning to see why my Anna is so very fond of you."

Then he turned to the princess, who had raised herself to a sitting position and was now gazing up at her father curiously. "I was watching your swashbuckling out the window," he explained. "This is hardly the first time I've caught you sparring either, though I'm happy to see you've moved on to a bit safer weapon at least."

Anna glanced at Marie, with a look in her eye and a smirk on her lips that plainly said, "Oh yeah, remind me to tell you about that sometime." Her father continued.

"So, since you seem so very interested in swordsmanship, I had a thought." Abruptly, with just a twitch of the king's fingers, two long but narrow pieces of polished wood flipped out from where they'd been concealed behind his arms. Marie took an involuntary step back, eying them warily. Anna's face, however, lit up immediately.

"These," Agdar declared proudly, "are the very same practice swords that I used as a boy when I was first learning how to handle a blade." He ran his eyes up and down the thin shafts. "Don't know why I kept them all these years, really. Just sentimental, I suppose. But anyway, I thought perhaps, if you were interested, that I could... I don't know... give you a few lessons?"

It seemed like Anna went from sitting casually on the ground to suddenly bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, without bothering to go through any of the inconvenient positions in between. "Oh, Papa! Do you mean it? That would be incredible!" She turned to look at her friend. "Won't this be fun, Marie?"

Marie was so stunned that she wasn't exactly sure what expression appeared on her face. Whatever it was, however, she was pretty sure that Anna misinterpreted it when she turned to her father and asked, "Oh, you'll teach Marie too, won't you Papa? That way, we can practice with each other in between lessons! And it'll be twice as much fun! Please, Papa?"

King Agdar looked knowingly at his daughter's companion. Marie could see in his keen eyes that he at least had picked up on her reluctance. "Well now, that's entirely up to Miss Marie. If she's interested, I'd be happy to teach her as well. But it's her choice."

Anna opened her mouth to say something like, "Of course she's interested," but her father held up a finger to silence her. Still watching Marie steadily, he raised his eyebrows in question.

Marie managed to pull her eyes away from the king's intense gaze just long enough to glance at Anna. The look of unrestrained excitement she saw there – not just in her friend's face, but telegraphed throughout her entire body in such a way that not a single part of her seemed able to stay still – ultimately made her own decision inevitable.

Turning her attention to the king once again, Marie finally nodded. "Sure. Sounds like fun."

The smile he returned to her made it abundantly clear that he knew exactly why she had made that choice.

• • •

"I'm not sure that I'm entirely comfortable with the idea of my daughter learning to fight with a sword."

Jacqueline was carefully inspecting the apples in the bushel basket displayed before the grocer's store. Reaching out, she selected one, turning it over and about to check for bruising. Then she lifted it to her nose and sniffed once. Apparently satisfied, she placed it carefully into her bag and began the search for the next worthy candidate. Then, returning to the topic of conversation, she added, "It just sounds so dangerous."

"Oh, Mother," her daughter replied with that particular tone of exasperation reserved for children who find themselves having to teach their parents the ways of the world. "It's not that big of a deal. For one thing, we're not really 'fighting.' Think of it more like a sport. And it isn't like we're using real weapons. They're just wooden practice swords. There's nothing sharp about them. I mean, Anna and I have played with sticks that were sharper than these things!"

"I don't know, Marie." That was her father chiming in. "I think your mother may have a point. After all... sword fighting? It doesn't exactly seem like the sort of pursuit that's appropriate for a young lady."

"Well, first of all," Marie countered, "I'm eight years old. Calling me any kind of lady, even a young one, is being unbelievably generous. And second, Anna is learning this too. Remember Anna? Princess of Arendelle? I'm not sure what definition of 'ladylike behavior' would somehow exclude princesses." Of course, Marie didn't feel compelled to point out that Anna was about as far from anything she'd ever come to think of as a princess as it was possible to be.

For a moment, Marie couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation. Here she was, defending to her parents the very activity with which she herself had been so uncomfortable just a day earlier, and for most of the same reasons! After all, playing with sticks was one thing. But it was just that – playing! Being taught real dueling techniques moved decidedly out of the realm of play.

The first thing that had helped put her mind at ease, however, had been the king himself. He seemed very different from the way Anna had described him to her a month ago. Of course, Anna had said at that time that she'd never seen her father that angry before, so it probably hadn't been fair for Marie to judge him on that one incident alone. But the way it had shaken her friend so deeply had left quite an impression on the girl. So even when Anna had told her about her father's apology, and his promise to spend more time with her and be a better parent, Marie had found it hard to dislodge that image of the king forcibly removing Anna from her sister's room.

However, as their first lesson had progressed, Marie found she had little choice but to change her prejudices. King Agdar was incredibly patient and, it turned out, an excellent teacher. He started with the most basic of basics, instructing them on how to properly grip a sword. He had talked briefly about how different swords required different grips: one-handed, two-handed, hand-and-a-half. Naturally, the type of grip also affected the moves you could make, both on defense and attack. The particular practice swords they had were of the single handed variety. This limited the amount of power that you could bring to bear, and also meant a shorter reach than the other varieties. But the lighter weight meant greater speed and control. They were designed more for finesse than brute strength.

Then, the king had progressed to some beginning moves: a simple thrust and parry. The two girls took turns, practicing both moves against their instructor. Near the end of that lesson, they'd even been allowed a couple of passes facing off against each other. When the king finally declared that they'd done enough for the day, Marie had been grateful. She was tired and her arm was more than a little sore. And yet, as the king bent down to kiss his daughter farewell and then turned to head back into the palace, Marie surprised herself when she called out, "When's our next lesson?"

King Agdar had turned to look back at the two girls. He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "You think you're sore now? It'll be worse tomorrow. So why don't we say in two days instead, same time?" Anna had nodded eagerly, and Marie found that a goofy grin had somehow made its way onto her face. She never would have believed it, but Anna had been right. It had been fun!

"That may well be," Jacqueline spoke again, breaking into Marie's train of thought. "And I won't pretend that I've spent much time among royalty. Still, I can't recall ever hearing of a princess with a scabbard strapped to her dress."

Marie sighed. "Let's be fair, Mother. It isn't exactly common to see kings or princes walking around with rapiers buckled onto their hips these days either, except maybe on the most formal occasions. It's like I said, swordplay isn't all death and duels anymore. These days, it's more a type of competition, a test of skill. What's wrong with that?"

"Mmm," was her mother's noncommittal reply.

After a pause, Anton spoke. "Marie, your mother and I aren't saying that you can't continue with this. Despite whatever concerns we might have, we trust you. Plus, we trust King Agdar. So if this is something you want to pursue, we aren't going to say no. We just ask that you be careful. And we hope that it won't interfere with your violin lessons."

"Oh, it won't, Father! Actually, I think the two sort of compliment each other. The precision and control I learned when working the bow also seems to help me guide the sword where it needs to go. And the strength that I'll build in my arms should increase my stamina when playing. So you see? You should just think of this sword training as additional music practice!"

Her father laughed. "Alright, alright. You've already won! Give your poor father a break." He patted her shoulder affectionately. Marie managed to turn her wince into a grin. Anna's father had been right when he said the aches would be even worse the day after.

Jacqueline looked at her husband and daughter, the tight line of her lips clearly indicating that her reservations had not been so easily assuaged. "Well, I still don't understand what could possibly have motivated the king to teach his daughter to use a sword," she tutted. "Honestly, what was the man thinking?"

• • •

Marie knew exactly what King Agdar had been thinking.

As their second lesson began, she sat cross legged on the grass and watched Anna and her father reviewing the moves they had covered the last time. Anna started out on the offensive, practicing her thrusts while the king blocked each with a simple parry. The princess's expression was intense with concentration as she tried to keep her sword arm steady and get the tip of the wooden blade to go exactly where the king indicated she should attack.

However, Marie's eyes kept returning to the king's face. She had barely ever spoken to him before their lesson the other day. In fact, aside from dinner their first day in Arendelle and the celebration on Midsummer's Eve, she couldn't recall even being in the same room with him for more than a passing moment. Still, the force of his personality had certainly made an impression on her. He was a proud man – proud of his kingdom, proud of his people, and proud of his family. He was well-spoken, even eloquent at need.

And yet, he somehow managed to always seem a little bit distant. While his words could be stirring and powerful, they always seemed a little too... prepared. It was as if everything he said always came from his head and never from his heart. She knew that couldn't always be the case, particularly after what Anna had told her about the day when her father had interrupted her lessons to just sit and have a talk with her. But then, even Anna had seemed rather surprised by the king's candor that day.

So why, here and now, was that distance nowhere to be seen? The king's smile was warm and genuine. His charming laughter came easily and often. His words of encouragement and instruction flowed freely, without any apparent filtering.

It all came down, Marie now realized, to an off-handed comment made to her two days ago, when the king had mentioned how much he disliked having children bow to him. That's when she had begun to understand the simple facts of the matter. Although Anna's father might indeed be a great king and a fine leader of men, she now felt increasingly certain that he never felt entirely comfortable in that position. He was not one of those born leaders that you often heard spoken of. Rather, it was something he had to constantly work at. The King Agdar that most of the world knew was not the real man. It was merely a part that he played because his country needed it of him.

But this man – standing here in the middle of the castle grounds and sparring with his daughter – this was the real Agdar. It was a face that he rarely let anyone see, even his own family. Perhaps it was only because he had finally found an interest that he and Anna could both share so freely that he was finally able to let himself _be _himself. Marie was happier than ever that she had agreed to take part in these lessons too. Even if she had hated the actual activity (which she happily didn't), it would have been worth it just to see Anna and her father together like this.

"Alright, Marie. Your turn!"

The young girl was startled out of her reverie by the king's powerful voice. Anna was standing over her, offering a hand up. Her friend was hot, sweaty, and absolutely exhilarated. Marie took the proffered hand and clamored to her feet. Taking the practice sword that Anna handed her, she strode over to the king and settled into her ready position.

Agdar looked over her stance approvingly. "Very good," he said. "You're a quick study with a good memory. Right, now come at me here." He tapped his left shoulder with the tip of his sword. Marie took a steadying breath, then lunged. The king batted aside her thrust with ease, but not before it was clear that her blade had been heading directly for the point he had indicated. "Excellent! Well done. Now again, right here." He tapped his right side, just below the ribs. Marie reset, then launched herself into the next attack.

• • •

Elsa's hand moved deftly, skating over the paper in quick arcs and short strokes. She had selected a harder pencil, so the lines were very light, easy to correct or just ignore. The figures on the page were very simple and sketchy. She wasn't trying to capture detail yet anyway – just basic shapes, proper proportions, and a sense of movement. The rest was something she'd have to build up to, as practice brought with it surer technique and greater confidence.

She lifted the spyglass from the cushion beside her and pointed it again out the window. Focusing on the three figures in the courtyard below, she studied the flow of their motions. The repetitive nature of their drills was perfect, allowing her to observe the same poses time and again, correcting and refining her drawings. Plus, the telescope was once more helping her to feel like she was sharing in their experiences, even if only as a distant observer.

Setting it down, Elsa quickly began a new sketch in an empty corner of the page. Father had apparently decided that Anna and Marie had demonstrated sufficient skill with the thrust, and so was now beginning to instruct them in a new slashing attack. She hurried to capture the exact positions of his arms and legs as he had demonstrated the maneuver, while the images were still fresh in her mind.

Back and forth she went between the eyepiece and the paper. Idly, she considered whether she should ask her mother about getting a tripod or other form of stable mount for the scope, so she wouldn't have to be picking it up and setting it down all the time. She quickly filed that thought away in the back of her mind, however, since she was far too wrapped up in her attempts to capture the scenes below to let herself get distracted by such details at the moment.

Once again focusing the spyglass on the scene below, where Anna was beginning to practice the new attack, she suddenly saw Marie's head turn. And there was no doubt about it; the brunette girl was staring straight up at her window. Oh, no. Had the lens reflected a telltale flash of sunlight? She almost collapsed the apparatus, ready to abandon her observations and retreat back into her room, when another flicker of motion caught her eye. It was Marie's hand, held inconspicuously down by her waist, but clearly waving in Elsa's direction. She stared at her sister's friend, watching a knowing smile spread across the girl's face. And, though it was hard to be certain at this distance, she was pretty sure she caught a quick wink intended for her eyes only.

Elsa smiled. Then, flipping over to a fresh sheet of paper, she began a rapid attempt to capture the lines of Marie's kind and open face.

• • •

So Elsa spent her afternoon, sitting in the warm sun streaming in through the window, combining gifts from her mother and her sister to once again reconnect with her family and their lives.

So Anna spent her afternoon, feeling closer to her father than she had in years – the two of them improbably brought together by a couple of carefully shaped strips of wood.

So Agdar spent his afternoon, allowing himself to set aside pretense and duty in order to indulge in a few precious hours where he could simply be himself – a proud father and a simple man at heart.

And so Marie spent her afternoon, taking pleasure in the simple joy of watching her friend's family, which had come so close to tearing itself apart, somehow finding its own slow way of coming back together again.


	21. Lines of Communication

Anna and Marie burst into the palace, chattering happily and gesticulating broadly, their hands guiding imaginary swords through the air as they avidly discussed that day's lesson. King Agdar, trailing in behind them, was carrying the practice swords nestled safely against the crook of his elbow. He silently congratulated himself on his foresight as Anna's right arm swept out in an expansive gesture that only missed connecting with an antique vase by a scant inch.

He smiled behind the girls' backs, happy to see that at least a few things about his younger daughter had not changed with the intervening years.

"Anna?" a voice suddenly called, and all three turned to look. There stood the queen, regal as always, framed in a doorway off to one side of the entrance hall.

"Yes, Mama?" the princess replied.

"I was just wondering if you might like to join me for a cup of tea."

"Oh." Anna stole a glance at Marie. "Well, the thing is, Marie and I were going to..."

"Marie is invited too, of course," Ellinor clarified. Seeing her daughter continuing to hesitate, she played her trump card. "And there's krumkake."

Anna bit her lip as her eyes grew wide and bright. She turned to look fully at Marie now. The other girl was already nodding eagerly. Exchanging broad grins, the two took off running across the hall.

"Thanks for the lesson, Papa!" Anna called back over her shoulder.

"Yes, thank you very much, Your Majesty!" Marie agreed as the queen stepped quickly aside to allow the two eager girls through the door.

Before she turned to follow them, however, Ellinor looked back at her husband. He stood alone in the middle of the large room, shaking his head and wearing a bemused smirk. When he noticed her attention, he fixed his gaze on her face and allowed his smile to turn into something a little bit more personal, but also somehow a little unsure.

Despite herself, the queen's lips also quirked upward slightly. Even though two months had now passed, she still found it hard some days to look at Agdar and not remember that scornful glare he had pinned her with as he had walked out of Elsa's room on her birthday. Still, she had never been one to hold a grudge unduly. And Agdar had indeed risen to his promise of reconnecting with Anna, far more successfully than she had ever imagined. Granted, she had never imagined swordplay serving as the bridge between father and daughter. However, there was no arguing with the results.

Her husband had many faults, but he was certainly a man of his word. He had proven that much beyond question. More to the point, he really did care for his two girls, even if he sometimes struggled to show it. So now, at last, Ellinor judged that the time was right.

With a flick of her eyes and a twist of her head, she indicated a very particular direction to her partner. Then she watched his eyebrows rise in surprise, and in unspoken question. Now, she finally did let her smile blossom in full and nodded at him encouragingly. His tentative smile broke into a wide grin. He turned and, with swift strides that looked for all the world like the king wanted nothing so much as to mimic his daughter and break out into a sprint, quickly crossed the room to the foot of the staircase.

Ellinor was just beginning to turn to walk through the door when Agdar stopped, one foot hovering over the first step. The queen arrested her motion, wondering for a moment what might be wrong with her husband. Then, Agdar spun to face her and, sweeping his arm across his midsection, executed a deep but jaunty bow. As he straightened, he brought that arm up and, touching his fingertips to his lips, lightly blew his wife a kiss.

The gesture so forcefully reminded her of the younger man she had fallen in love with that she simply couldn't keep from laughing. Shooing him off with a wave of her hand, she pivoted on the spot and at last crossed the threshold into the parlor.

King Agdar took the steps two at a time, the broad smile still stretched across his face. His long strides carried him quickly through the corridors so that he reached his destination in practically no time at all. Soon, he stood outside of Elsa's room.

But he did not enter. He did not knock or announce himself. In fact, he did not move at all. Instead, he silently questioned his own sanity.

What had he been thinking, coming here in such a giddy rush? As his eyes wandered over the blue and violet rosemaling decorating his daughter's door, the memories came flooding back of the last time he'd stood here, prepared to enter this room. And the sick feeling he'd experienced on that day, when he realized how thoughtlessly he had treated his first born child, settled once again in the pit of his stomach.

Honoring his wife's request, he had not attempted to see Elsa again since that day. Ellinor had said that their daughter was not yet ready to face him, and Agdar certainly had not wanted to cause her any more pain. So he had kept his distance, though each day away felt like it cost him another little bit of his soul. It was one of the great ironies of life that applied to all men, king or commoner. You can take something completely for granted, never giving any thought to it whatsoever, until the day you suddenly find it denied to you. Only then do you realize how empty your life is without it.

So yes, now that Ellinor had finally given him her silent blessing to visit their daughter again, his reaction had been nothing short of euphoric. Yet somehow, that had seemed to evaporate the instant he reached this spot, where he now stood rooted. Because that was the moment when he stopped thinking about himself and began to think about Elsa. And then it finally struck him that, despite his own elation at the thought of seeing her again, he had absolutely no reason to expect her to share such feelings. Certainly not considering the way they had last parted.

Now the mighty King of Arendelle stood in the hallway, searching for the courage to do something as simple as raising his hand to knock on the door before him. A part of him actually wondered if he should just turn and walk away, leaving Elsa in peace rather than imposing his presence on her. But no. Even if his courage had momentarily deserted him, he was not that great of a coward. He would not run away from his fears. For that's what this was – fear that Elsa would be unable to forgive him. Fear that her door might remain barred to him. Fear that, even if the door opened, what he might find waiting for him on the other side would be even more unbearable.

In the end, one thought spurred Agdar forward. _Stop thinking about yourself. You can try to justify it any way you like, but what you're really worrying about is how _you_ might be hurt. It's time to put your daughter first. __If she needs you, then you'd better well be there for her. But __it needs to be her decision __whether or not she's ready to allow you back into her life, __no matter what__ th__at__ answer might cost you._

Acting before he could second guess himself yet again, he raised his hand and quickly rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. "Elsa, sweetheart. It's your father. May I come in?"

Then he waited. He waited for what seemed like several eternities, though he suspected it was only a few seconds. He waited until he heard the quiet sound of the latch being withdrawn, saw the handle turn, and watched the door slowly open inward.

There stood the princess, still gripping the edge of the door, and looking every bit as uncertain as Agdar felt. He tried his best to fashion a reassuring smile, despite his body's sudden determination to once more freeze every single muscle rigidly in place. "May I come in?" he asked again. Slowly, Elsa nodded.

He approached cautiously, allowing her time to step back and open the door a little wider. Once inside, he abruptly found himself facing a new and unexpected conundrum: where to sit? The bed was far too personal, and the bench by the bright window seemed somehow inappropriate. After standing awkwardly in the middle of the room for several moments, he finally opted for the straight-backed chair near the desk, where Ellinor usually sat during Elsa's lessons. It wasn't the most comfortable seat in the room, but he was already uncomfortable enough that he doubted he'd notice the difference.

Once seated, he looked again at his daughter. She was standing with her back against the now closed door. Her eyes kept returning to his face, only to then veer away again after a few heartbeats. He sighed inwardly. Well, at least they were starting this little reunion with one thing in common, even if it was only an awkward disquiet.

In fact, he could feel the uneasiness growing as their silence prowled the room. Finally, at a loss for any profound words of either repentance or wisdom, Agdar settled on the simple and honest truth. "I've missed you, Elsa." When she turned her eyes towards him this time, she at least did not look away again. But still, she did not speak. His spirits wilted a little. He had hoped for some response, maybe an, "I missed you too." Her continued silence was disheartening, to say the least.

Well, no one had said this was going to be easy. Still, it had to begin somewhere, and it certainly looked like it would have to begin with him.

"Elsa," he began again, trying to collect his thoughts as he spoke, "I think it should be pretty clear by now that being a king does not make one infallible. If anyone doubts that, they need only ask a queen. And I regret none of my mistakes so much as those I've made with my daughters. I can, I have, and I will apologize – as many times as it takes – but apologies cannot change the past. All I can do is to try to do better by the both of you, now and going forward.

"Unfortunately, part of being an imperfect human being is that I also don't always know what the best thing for you truly is. I make my best guesses, and then I make mistakes. But in order to do better, in order to make fewer mistakes, I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what _you _need. Because I think I've made it abundantly clear that I don't know that as well as I should."

He continued to hold Elsa's gaze, but her silence remained unbroken. The only response she gave was to shift her weight a little nervously from one foot to the other.

Agdar leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. When he looked up again, he silently cursed the lapse. Their eye contact having broken, Elsa was now looking fixedly down at the floor. Alright then. Time to try a different approach.

"Elsa, sweetheart, tell me this: Do you feel like you're ready to leave your room? I don't mean your infrequent excursions, either. I mean do you feel comfortable enough to come out and join your mother and Anna and me again, every day. And don't tell me what you think I want to hear. Please, just answer me honestly."

The room remained quiet for so long that Agdar was sure that he had only hit another dead end. Then, Elsa shook her head. Only once, and barely more than an inch of movement, but he had his answer.

Encouraged, and not wanting to lose this tenuous avenue of communication, he tried another question which he felt certain would be easier for his girl to answer. "Are you comfortable with your mother continuing to come here to visit you?" This time, the nod came quickly and with more certainty.

Now, the question that stood every chance of breaking his heart. "Is if okay if I continue to visit you as well?" There was a painful pause this time. Agdar had to struggle to remain outwardly calm and impassive, though his guts roiled in dread of the answer. When it finally came, he very nearly collapsed. Elsa had nodded.

He needed quite a while to collect himself again before he could ask his next question. It didn't help that he knew this might be the hardest one for his daughter to answer so far. "What about Anna? Do you want to let her come in now too?"

Elsa's face shifted. All this time, it had remained fairly neutral, revealing nothing more than a vague nervousness. Now, however, a series of emotions flickered across it in rapid succession – confusion, doubt, loneliness, longing, fear. As her internal debate played out across her features, the king's heart went out to his daughter. He had just opened his mouth to tell her that she didn't need to answer him right at this moment, when her response finally came.

She didn't nod. Nor did she shake her head. For the first time since his arrival, she spoke. "I don't know, Papa." The quavering in her voice was more than Agdar could bear. In an instant, he was across the room, kneeling in front of her, gripping her gloved hands in his own.

"It's alright, Elsa. It's alright. I know this is hard. Your mother and I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. And there's no hurry. You can take as much time as you need. I think if Anna's proven anything over the last two years, it's that she's willing to wait for you too, as long as that takes. She's not going anywhere."

The king was only mildly surprised when that comment actually brought a weak smile to Elsa's lips. "I assume it's alright if she at least continues to visit outside your door?" At that, she nodded emphatically. "Good," he said, smiling warmly at his daughter. "Because even if you had said no, I'm not sure _anything_ could actually have stopped her from doing that."

Elsa actually laughed, the corners of her eyes crinkling fondly at thoughts of her stubborn little sister. "Anna never has been good at taking no for an answer."

"No," the king agreed. "But she comes by her willfulness honestly. Both her parents can be quite bullheaded as well."

Elsa's smile dimmed slightly. "I wish I had more of that confidence."

"Oh, never mistake stubbornness for confidence," Agdar corrected her. "Some of the most hardheaded people I've ever met maintain their obstinacy precisely because they're afraid that they could be wrong. So they steadfastly hold to their position, against all evidence and odds, for fear of looking like they made a mistake. Believe me, because I include myself in that list. Admitting you're wrong can be one of the hardest things to do."

Elsa nodded, appearing to consider her father's words thoughtfully. Then, as if deciding that such contemplation could wait for later, she abruptly changed subjects. "Speaking of Anna, I've been watching some of your lessons out in the courtyard."

Her father blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden topic shift. "Oh?" Then he glanced over his shoulder at the large triangular window, and his brain finally made the connection. "Oh!" For some inexplicable reason, he felt heat rising into his face. "I didn't realize we had an audience."

"I hope you don't mind. It's just that the three of you all seem to be having such a good time. And everything's been so serious around here for so long, it was good to see everyone enjoying themselves like that. I feel bad sometimes that this whole place has become so gloomy because of me."

"Oh, Elsa. I wish you wouldn't think like that. None of us blame you for the way things are. They're just..." He struggled for words before finally finishing, rather lamely, "...the way they are."

"I know. But... Well, my feelings are what they are too. I can't always help it." She let her eyes fall a little, and lapsed into silence for a moment. When she lifted her gaze a few seconds later, however, her father could see a glimmer and a sparkle in them that hadn't been there before. "Can I show you something?"

"Of course, princess," he said, and then watched as she hurried over to her desk, pulled open a drawer, and drew out a sheaf of papers.

She turned to face him again, holding the sheets against her chest. "I've only been doing this for a couple of months now, so I'm still learning. And some of these are pretty rough. And most of them aren't quite done yet. In fact, maybe I should just..."

She had half turned back to the desk when her father spoke. "Elsa," he said kindly, "may I take a look? Please?" Hesitantly, she walked back over to him and held out the pages. He took them from her carefully and began to examine each one.

The first appeared to be a loose caricature of a man. He was extremely short, but his head was very long. A few tufts of what looked like hair stuck straight up from the top of his otherwise bald head. His nose was very long and pointed, and his arms were... Oh, his arms were sticks! Now it made sense. It wasn't a man, after all. Well, not exactly. It was a snowman!

He moved on to the next page and recognized this subject immediately. He had, after all, been the one to commission it for his girls four or five years ago now. It was the little redhaired doll with the twin braids. While the previous sketch had been very sparse of line, it was clear that far more time had been put into this one. The level of detail was far greater, right down to detailing around the hem of the skirt and the freckles sprinkled across the cheeks.

Shifting that sheet to the back of the pile, he glanced at the third drawing. Then he stopped and looked again, much closer this time. It was the figure of a person, though not nearly as detailed as the doll had been. The legs were spread well apart with the body's weight clearly placed on the one in front, in the middle of lunging forward. The right arm was pulled back part way across the chest, and in the hand was a long, thin object. Light pencil lines suggested the drapes and folds of clothing that had not yet been completed. And the head was just an oval, clearly another of the parts that Elsa had mentioned was still unfinished. But still...

"Elsa," Agdar asked, still looking at the picture. "Is this... me?"

The princess nodded. "Uh huh. Sorry about the head. Faces are really hard. It's something I hope to come back to once I get more practice. I was just trying to get the pose right, you see, and..."

"You drew these?" her father asked, now looking up at his daughter. "All of these?"

Elsa nodded again. "Anna bought me a whole assortment of pencils for my birthday. She thought it might be something fun for me to do. And she was right. I'm still not that good yet, but I'm hoping if I keep up at it..."

"Sweetheart, these are wonderful," the king enthused. "I... I never knew that you..."

Now Elsa shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed at her father's praise. "I didn't, until just recently. It just started as something to pass the time, but then I found myself enjoying it more and more."

Agdar lowered his gaze again and flipped through the sketches once more. Then he looked up at his daughter, and there was no mistaking the pride on his face. "Elsa, I am so glad you found something like this that you love. If there's anything I can do, anything you need to keep this going, you let me know, okay?"

"Well," she began a little sheepishly, "there's one thing that I'd been meaning to ask Mother about but never quite got around to. You see, I've been using the spyglass that she got me to help draw things that I see out my window. But it's a little awkward having to switch between it and the pencils all the time, and..."

"A mount for your spyglass?" Agdar asked. The princess nodded. "Consider it done. Is there anything else?" Elsa thought for a moment before shaking her head.

The king handed the pages back. Elsa took them gingerly. Then suddenly, that look of undirected anxiety reappeared on her face. It was as if she had exhausted the few ideas she'd had for topics of conversation, and now was beginning to panic about what to do next.

So he reached out and brushed his daughter's cheek with the back of one finger. She closed her eyes at the touch, but he was relieved that she did not pull away. "We'll get through this, Elsa," he said reassuringly. "The road ahead might not always be clear., but we'll find it together. As a family. Okay?"

She couldn't quite hide the doubt on her face, but she nodded nevertheless. Then, taking her father completely by surprise, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Papa," she whispered into his ear.

King Agdar drew her into an embrace of his own, holding her tight in hopes that it might help ease her insecurities, even just a little. Then, in a whisper of his own, he replied, "Thank you for giving me another chance, Elsa. I will do my very best not to let you down again."

Father and daughter clung to each other for a very long time, each enjoying the simple warmth of the other's presence. Neither wanted to let go. Both knew that they really never would.


	22. Divertimento

Anna stood waiting just inside the imposing inner castle gates. Well, strictly speaking, that was not quite true. She bounced just inside the gates. She walked around in circles. She ran, weaving in and out between the tall pillars that supported the walkway along the top of the wall. She even attempted a few cartwheels, though those were somewhat encumbered by the heavier woolen dress she was wearing to ward off the late autumn chill. In short, she waited as patiently as she could. It was simply that patience was not something that Anna did particularly well.

Like most of the castle staff, the gate wardens were quite used to the princess's energetic enthusiasms. Nevertheless, as they stood on either side of the magnificent entranceway, they couldn't quite keep the amusement off their faces. Anna's high spirits always seemed to have the strange ability to somehow infect others nearby.

At last, the cry came from the guards manning the outer portal. "Opening the gate!"

"Opening the gate!" chorused both of the inner guards. Only one actually turned to heave his door inward, however. The double doors of the gates had rarely been opened at the same time since the castle had been closed off more than two years ago. Given that only essential staff and expected dignitaries were allowed in, there was seldom any need to unblock the entire passageway.

Even so, the lone visitor who stepped out of the short tunnel and into the courtyard still seemed dwarfed by the towering opening. Fortunately, she had long since gotten used to these theatrics, though she had found them plenty daunting at first.

"Marie!" Anna cried as she dashed forward to greet her friend. "You're here! And you really brought it at last!"

The young brunette hefted her violin case in acknowledgment of her friend's observation. "Well, I said I would. Didn't you believe me?"

"Oh, don't be silly. Of course I believed you. It's just that I've waited so long to hear you play, and I'm so excited that you finally gave in at last!"

Marie gave her friend a sly grin. "Well, I finally decided that it was just easier than saying, 'No,' every time I saw you." The face Anna made somehow managed to convey just how much she wanted to stick her tongue out in response to that jibe, but that she considered it ill-advised to offend a musician right before the concert.

"Honestly, though, I've been really working hard on this one piece. The first time I heard Mr. Odegaard play it, I knew I wanted to learn it. It was just so beautiful. It also was probably a little ambitious for me, but Mr. Odegaard understood how I felt about it. Fortunately, he also had a somewhat simpler arrangement that wasn't quite so out of my reach. He really has been so incredibly patient and helpful. So although it's taken me more than a month of hard practice, I finally think I can play it now without embarrassing myself too badly."

"I'm sure you'll be great, Marie," Anna replied confidently. All this time, they had been crossing the distance to the palace entrance. Now as they drew near, Anna glanced up at a particular triangular window set a good way off to one side, but which she knew still offered a clear view of the courtyard and gates. The window was quite empty, and yet Anna was certain that the room itself was not.

"Marie," she said thoughtfully, "if you wouldn't mind too much, could I make one small suggestion about today's performance?"

• • •

Elsa sat at her desk, reviewing the latest lesson that she'd had with her mother the day before. For some reason, it had given her all kinds of trouble then, and it still was even now. Of course, it didn't help either that she was finding it exceedingly difficult to concentrate today. There was a half-finished sketch in her notebook that she was itching to complete. It kept drawing her mind away from her studies. But a future queen had to learn to put her responsibilities first, before her own personal desires. She was beginning to wonder which of the day's lessons would ultimately prove the harder to master.

Giving her head a forceful shake, hoping to dislodge all the thoughts that kept trying to distract her, she stared all the more fiercely at the book that lay open before her. She was attempting to focus so intently that it was certainly understandable how she failed to hear the faint noises from the hallway outside.

She could not, however, fail to hear when the music began.

It started slowly and softly. The long draws of the bow across the strings evoked a peaceful serenity, almost a sleepiness. But the volume grew slowly and the long, languid notes began to give way to shorter and more energetic ones. The tempo quickened. Suddenly, in a series of rapidly rising notes, the music built to a crescendo that seemed to almost burst open, then float gently back down to Earth.

It was a sunrise, Elsa thought in amazement, her studies hopelessly forgotten. A sunrise painted in music. She allowed her eyelids to slide shut as the piece continued.

The tone was definitely lighter now. Long notes were all but gone, having given way to shorter tones that ranged up and down the scale. Every so often, though with increasing frequency, certain notes would slide briefly upward in pitch. In between, the music darted, fluttered, soared. In her mind, Elsa saw birds flitting to and fro, while flowers, awakened by the newborn sunlight, began to unfurl their petals and greet the bright morning.

The melody had become simpler now, but positively sprightly. It carried with it the childlike joy of a spring day in a field resplendent with wildflowers and bird song. Of running barefoot through the tall grass. Elsa could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her face and neck. Robins and sparrows zipped through the scene as spirited broken chords. Every so often, two long draws would follow one another, the second one always a lower pitch – like a breath or a sigh, or the wind blowing softly through the reeds.

After one of these exhalations, the music seemed to fade away for a moment, only to return in unexpected fashion. The notes were now short and sharp – plucked, not bowed – and always in descending thirds. It was the sound of water, the music of a brief shower or perhaps a trickling stream. It spoke of renewal, of the washing away of the past and the promise of new beginnings.

Now the bow returned, and with it the long, two-toned breaths. However, they soon became shorter and faster. This was not the sound of a gentle breeze. It was the deep inhale and exhale of a dancer, twirling through the meadow. The energy grew steadily, additional notes now building upon the rhythmic breathing, following the light footsteps as they frolicked under the shining sun. The tune spun round and around until Elsa nearly felt dizzy. It built upon itself, coming faster and faster. And then, with a sudden rush, the music rose in pitch and volume to an exhilarating height, hanging suspended on a trembling vibrato that made the listener sit up straighter, straining to join the sound upon that lofty apex.

When at last the wavering note began to fade, it gave way to a gentle, lilting air. It was very nearly a reprise of the bars that had begun the song, but with one important difference. This time, instead of building and growing, the music slowly receded, becoming quieter and softer. It drifted away, as a lullaby fades in the face of a dream. At last, the final note – sustained for a lovingly long time, like a tender caress – slipped away into silence. In Elsa's mind, the sun fell below the horizon, and the birds and the flowers and the entire meadow drifted quietly back to sleep.

• • •

Marie allowed the bow to slip off the strings. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, her eyes still lightly closed, she could feel herself being drawn back to reality after having lost herself so completely in the music. Not wanting to let go of that incredible feeling quite yet, she took a moment to savor the sensation of hovering on the edge between the two worlds.

As the magic slowly faded, giving way once again to the practical and the mundane, she couldn't help but critique her performance. She knew she had dropped a few notes during the faster portions. She had struggled to remain on tempo during the plucked section. And she almost winced as she remembered that one particularly sour note, which she had tried to cover as best as she could. Nevertheless, she was far from displeased. It was still one of the best jobs she'd done with the difficult piece yet, and she was glad that it had come today in front of this particular audience.

Finally, and still a little reluctantly, she allowed her eyes to drift open.

The first thing she saw was Anna, of course, sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back propped in the corner between the brightly painted door and its frame. That wasn't an unusual sight on its own, but the expression on the princess's face definitely was. Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open in astonishment. It was a look that conveyed far more than mere surprise.

"Well," Marie asked expectantly, "what did you think?" She waited anxiously for the other girl's reply. Then she waited some more.

Okay, now this really _was_ unusual. For the first time that Marie could remember in the history of their friendship, it appeared that Anna had been rendered speechless. As compliments go, the young musician could think of none better.

After several more seconds had passed, Anna finally closed her mouth and visibly swallowed. Marie could almost see the thoughts collecting behind her friend's eyes, which were still open so wide as to nearly be bulging. At last, the young princess opened her mouth to speak.

But the voice they both heard was not Anna's.

"Marie?" Anna was so startled by the sound that she very nearly toppled over onto her side. Somehow, she managed to get her feet underneath her and hurried to stand next to her friend, gripping Marie's arm tightly as they both stared at the closed door in wonder.

"Marie, that was amazing," Elsa continued, her voice only slightly muffled by the intervening wood. "You have an incredible gift."

"Th-thank you," Marie stammered. She couldn't seem to make up her mind whether she should be looking at the door or at Anna. Anna, for her part, couldn't take her eyes off the door. She appeared to be in shock. Marie couldn't exactly blame her.

After a pause, Elsa spoke again. "Is... is Anna out there with you?"

Seeing that her friend was in no fit state to reply, Marie answered. "Yes, she is." Then, feeling that answer to be somehow inadequate, she added, "It was her idea for me to play up here. Outside your room. Today."

Silence again. Marie felt Anna's hands clench even tighter around her arm. She wanted to reach over and reassure her, but she was still holding the violin in one hand and the bow in the other. She didn't dare bend down to put either back in the case.

It took so long for Elsa to respond that Marie was beginning to wonder whether or not she would. Even Anna tore her gaze away from the door to look over at her friend, her eyes seeming to ask what she ought to do. Marie had no answer, but was saved from having to invent one when the elder princess spoke at last.

"Thank you, Marie, for that wonderful performance. And... and thank you, Anna. Thank you for sharing it with me."

Anna turned back to the door again, but now all the apprehension that had been weighing upon her suddenly seemed to vanish. Finally releasing her death grip on Marie's arm, she walked slowly forward until she was only inches away from the brightly painted surface. Lifting her hand, she placed it tenderly against the wood. Then, in a bright voice that surprised Marie by betraying not a hint of her earlier anxiety, she spoke at last.

"Of course, Elsa. That's what sisters do."

• • •

Elsa leaned her right shoulder against the other side of the door, the palm of her left hand pressed against the wood, unaware that she was mirroring her sister's gesture. Regardless of any physical distance, though, it was good to feel even this close to Anna again. Why, she wondered, did something as simple as that have to become so unbelievably complicated?

Still, the quiet moment that now stretched between them seemed somehow less uncomfortable than so many similar silences in the past. Perhaps, like a mouthful of water to a man dying of thirst, even that small exchange had done far more to fill their mutual need than anyone could have expected it to. And it left Elsa wondering if her isolation really need to be so complete.

Of course, she could never let Anna know about her magic. If she couldn't control her powers, maybe that would even mean that she dare not allow herself physical contact with her sister again. But was there any reason why she couldn't at least talk to Anna, about _some_ things? It would be good for them both, Elsa knew, if the emotions welling up in her chest right then were any indication at all of what her sister was feeling.

Anna's voice came once again through the door. "Elsa? Marie and I are going to leave now, okay? But I'll come back later and we can... talk. You know, like usual." By which, Elsa knew, Anna meant that she would do all the talking, with no real expectation of a reply. She was more aware than ever that it was not a fair arrangement. Then again, nothing about this situation could be considered fair by any definition.

"I'm glad you enjoyed the music." That was Marie talking now. "It's always wonderful to have an appreciative audience. Take care, Elsa."

The Crown Princess of Arendelle listened to the two girls' footsteps retreating down the hall. Just before they had faded completely, however, she felt sure she heard them joined by the sparkling sound of gentle laughter.

Elsa smiled serenely to herself. That was good. That was exactly as it should be. Laugh, Anna. Enjoy life. And if it's at all possible, I'll try to find a way to join you when I can.

Turning away from the door, she walked thoughtfully back to her desk. She did not sit back down, however. Instead, she closed her textbook and pushed it aside. Then she opened the drawer that held her pad and pencils. Picking both up, she carried them over to the window alcove, where she proceeded to make herself comfortable. Then she flipped to that unfinished sketch and resumed her attempts to properly capture the image she had in her mind.

Presently, the faint sounds of laughter from the courtyard below intruded into her concentration. Looking out the window, she saw Anna and Marie apparently enjoying a simple stroll through the grounds. They were talking animatedly back and forth. Whatever the subject of their conversation, it must have been quite amusing, because the ringing peals of their laughter once again carried all the way up to Elsa's room.

Elsa's smile returned. She was eternally grateful that her sister had found Marie. Both girls seemed to have gained so much from their relationship. And if Elsa herself could no longer be the close friend to Anna that she once had been, it was good to know that there was at least someone else who would be.

Almost as if she had heard her sister's thoughts directed her way, Anna suddenly glanced up at Elsa's window. Most likely, it had just been force of habit, for she looked away almost immediately. But when her mind registered what she had seen in that brief glimpse, she stopped in her tracks and looked back again with a startled expression on her face.

The two princesses' eyes met across the wide distance. For a moment, they remained frozen in place, just staring at one another. Then, surprising them both, Elsa moved first. As a shy smile curved her lips, she raised one hand and gave a small, somewhat awkward wave to her little sister.

Anna's face split into a broad grin. Raising her arm high over her head, she waved back enthusiastically. With her other hand, she grabbed Marie's shoulder and then pointed excitedly up at the window. Marie's eyes followed her friend's finger, and then she smiled herself. Raising her hand, albeit to a more discreet height than Anna's, she waved a polite greeting of her own in Elsa's direction.

As she returned the gesture, Elsa was struck by the realization that, as far as Anna knew, this was the first time that Marie had ever seen her big sister. Well, compared to all the other secrets kept in Arendelle Palace, her and Marie's previous distant connection was hardly even worth mentioning.

Anna finally lowered her hand, but continued to look and grin up at Elsa. Marie said something to her, and the princess nodded. Still, she refused to break eye contact with her sister, even as Marie took her by the hand and led her to a particularly sunny spot near the duck pond with an unobstructed view of Elsa's window. There they sat down and, judging by the quickly renewed laughter, resumed their earlier conversation. And if Anna spent at least as much time looking up at the castle window as she did looking at the person to whom she was actually talking... well, Marie didn't seem to mind.

Elsa similarly divided her attention between the sketch in her lap and the view out the window. Her earlier studies were now completely forgotten. After all, she reasoned, though it was certainly true that a queen needed to attend to her responsibilities, it was also a fact that a princess needed to learn to appreciate beauty wherever it could be found. And it did not matter whether that might be in a piece of music, in a work of art, or in a little sister with a heart of gold.


	23. Helping Hands

"Mama, can we talk?"

At the sound of her daughter's voice, Queen Ellinor looked up. Anna stood at the entrance to the library, and judging by the way she was wringing her hands together (without apparently even realizing it), something was clearly bothering her.

"Of course, sweetheart," her mother replied as she closed the book she had been reading and set it on the table beside her. That was when she abruptly realized that there were no two-person seats anywhere in the room. Fortunately, her favorite reading chair was reasonably large, and her younger daughter was still small for her age. So she simply slid over to one side and patted the cushion beside her. Accepting the invitation, Anna crossed the room and hopped up to sit in the vacated space.

The queen waited a while, to see if Anna would begin the conversation on her own. When all she did was stare down at her hands as they rested in her lap, however, it soon became clear that a bit of gentle prodding would be necessary.

"Anna, dear," Ellinor began, "is something the matter?"

That proved to be the pebble that started the avalanche. And Anna's words came out in a similar uncontrollable tumble.

"Why won't Elsa talk to me, Mama? I mean, you and Papa have both sorta said that all of this has something to do with protecting me, though I don't understand what everybody's protecting me from, or how Elsa staying hidden away in her room is supposed to help anybody do that. And whenever I try to ask, everyone says that they can't explain any of that to me either.

"But still, even if all that's true, that doesn't explain why can't she at least talk to me! How can that hurt? Okay, maybe there are some things that she can't say. But couldn't we at least talk about the little things? You know, her lessons, her drawings, the weather. If you hadn't mentioned it, I wouldn't have even known how much she was enjoying the pencils I got her for her birthday. Of course, I'm glad that she is. It's just... I wish she could have told me herself."

Anna sighed, though it was achingly close to a whimper. "After all, both you and Papa are keeping the same secrets, but you still talk to me. So why won't Elsa?"

The queen found that she had no answer to her daughter's question. But what pained her even more was the way Anna had so matter-of-factly talked about her parents keeping secrets from her. It had not been a question or even an accusation, but just a cold statement of reality. A girl her age should not be so unmoved by something like that.

The reminder of how this entire situation had so twisted her family caused Ellinor's throat to constrict with a spasm.

By now, Anna had turned to look up at her mother, clearly awaiting a response of some sort. Still hopelessly unable to form anything resembling a coherent answer, however, she found herself shamefully forced to stall for time by replying with a question of her own. "What brought all this on so suddenly, sweetheart?"

Anna shrugged, lowering her head until she was looking down at her lap once more. "I guess it was a few weeks ago now. I took Marie up to Elsa's room, because she'd brought her violin and was finally going to play for me. And I had the idea that Elsa might enjoying listening to it too."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Anna," the queen said encouragingly. The princess gave no sign that she heard the remark, however, and just continued with her explanation.

"Well, I was right. In fact, Elsa liked it so much that she actually spoke to us! She complimented Marie, and then she thanked me for letting her listen too. And it was so amazing! I mean, it was only a few words, but that didn't matter. Just hearing her voice again made me so happy the rest of that day – the rest of that week!

"But then, it was back to silence again.

"So I got to thinking about it more. And not just that one time, either. I mean, Elsa has actually spoken to me a couple of times now. Once was an argument that we had that one time when she was actually out of her room. So that wasn't so nice. But then there was her birthday. We talked then, remember? And that was wonderful too! Well, at least until..." Anna's voice trailed off, and Ellinor was silently grateful. The mere thought of that incident was still enough to set her blood boiling. But right now, she needed to deal with her daughter and not her own issues.

"Anyway," Anna continued, "it just seemed like the few times that Elsa's actually spoken to me, it made her feel better too. So if I enjoy it and she enjoys it, and it doesn't seem to hurt anyone, then I can't understand why she doesn't do it more often." She offered another small shrug (not much more than a twitch of one shoulder, really), and in a quiet voice finished, "That's all."

The problem, Ellinor realized as she continued to search in vain for some answer or explanation, was that Anna was absolutely right. Not even Agdar – stubborn and overprotective as he was – could argue that Elsa should be denied the simple pleasure of _talking_ to her little sister. And, as far as she could recall, he never had. This silence was a decision that Elsa had seemingly made on her own. So why would she have chosen to do that?

"Well," the queen began slowly, though her mind was racing as it tried to imagine what must have been going through Elsa's mind, "you need to understand that it isn't Elsa's choice to keep these secrets. I think she must find it far harder to hide things from you than you realize. So she may just be afraid that, if she starts talking to you too much, if she lets herself get too comfortable, she could let something slip."

She tried not to think too hard about the unstated implication behind what she had just said: that the reason she and Agdar could still talk to Anna was because they were so much better at keeping secrets from her.

"Would that really be so bad?" Anna asked almost pleadingly. "I mean, I wouldn't tell anyone. I can keep a secret." Then, as if suddenly remembering her own extremely vocal tendencies, she added a bit defensively, "When it really matters."

Her mother smiled. "I know you can, dear. That isn't the problem. It's more that... Well, it's..."

"Complicated." Anna provided the word, though both her face and her voice conveyed exactly how much she hated it. "Mother, I'm almost eight years old. And I may not be as smart as Elsa, but I've learned enough to know that 'complicated' is often just another word for 'secret.'"

Ellinor couldn't keep herself from wincing, just a little. It was so easy to only see Anna as her playful little princess. But even if perhaps she wasn't as dedicated to her studies as her older sister, that didn't make her any less observant when she put her mind to it. Or less able to reach painfully accurate conclusions.

_There are too many silences in this place_, Ellinor thought to herself as their conversation faltered. The silence of all the grand rooms now left empty and unattended. The silence of the king and queen should anyone be bold enough to ask why the castle had been closed. Elsa's silence toward her sister, knowing it would cause pain but afraid of causing something worse. And Anna's silence as she despaired of ever getting answers to the only questions that really mattered to her.

Finally, the queen came to a decision. "Listen, Anna. I don't want to make any promises that I might not be able to keep. But let me talk this over with your father. Maybe between the two of us, we can convince Elsa to open up to you a little more. Or maybe we can come up with some way for the two of you to communicate that she'll be more comfortable with. I don't know. But you're right, it shouldn't have to be this way."

Anna lifted her face up toward her mother again, and Ellinor immediately saw the spark of hope rekindling in her daughter's eyes. "Thank you, Mama. That's all I really wanted – just a little help. It's been so hard trying to stay connected to Elsa all on my own."

Ellinor felt the sting beneath her eyelids. Reaching out, she drew Anna close, feeling her daughter's arms wrapping around her in return. "You are not on your own, sweetheart," she promised as she stroked Anna's back. "We're in this together until the very end."

• • •

The knock on her door startled Elsa. She had been so engrossed in her pencil-work that the rest of the world had sort of faded out of her mind. As she looked up now and noticed how far the sunlight had moved across her room, she was rather shocked to realize how many hours must have passed while she'd been lost in her drawings.

"Elsa, may we come in?"

"Just a moment, Mother." Elsa got up from her desk, crossed to the door, and unbolted the lock. Only as she turned the handle and began to open the door did her mother's use of the word "we" finally register.

It was her father who was also waiting in the hall. Elsa was mildly surprised, considering that her parents didn't often visit both at once. And the last time they had... had not been pleasant. As she stepped aside to make room, the queen and king entered. Queen Ellinor immediately crossed the room and took a seat beneath the window. But Agdar, glimpsing Elsa's open sketchpad on her desk, paused to peer down at it.

"Where is this?" he asked, bending over to get a closer look at the landscape that had filled most of the page. "I don't recognize it." The scene depicted a stream running through the middle of a meadow. Wildflowers of various sorts lined the banks. One tall tree leaned out over the water, casting a shadow on the grass and pebbles below. A small nest was visible on one of its branches, though it was empty at the moment. One of its occupants had been drawn in mid-flight, fluttering down towards a large stone on the other side of the brook. Another bird, presumably its mate, was already perched there.

"It isn't any place," Elsa answered. "It's just an image I've had in my head for the last few weeks. I keep coming back to it every so often, adding little things and trying to get it just right."

"You have a remarkable eye for detail," her father said admiringly. "Or, in this case, a remarkable mind for it."

"Thank you," the princess replied, smiling a little bashfully at the compliment. Taking one last look at the drawing, her father then moved to sit beside his wife on the bench by the window.

Elsa, unsure of the purpose of this unexpected double visit, wondered for a moment what she ought to do with herself. If it was serious, she thought perhaps sitting in her desk chair would be most appropriate. If it was _really _serious, it might be best to just remain standing. But at last, deciding to take her cue from her father's casual attitude, she settled for the comfortable softness of her bed.

Once their daughter was ready, the king and queen exchanged a look. Ellinor nodded once, then they both turned to look at Elsa. Her father cleared his throat.

"Elsa," he began, "we need to ask you something." Looking extremely uncomfortable, but apparently determined to soldier ahead nevertheless, he posed the question. "Why don't you talk to Anna?"

Elsa felt every single thought immediately drain right out of her head. She just sat there, looking dumbly back at her parents, as she struggled to reengage her brain. It took her the better part of a minute to finally come up with an intelligent response. "I'm sorry, what?"

Agdar threw the queen a look that was quite plainly a plea for help. Sighing, Ellinor stepped into the conversation.

"Elsa, when we had you move out of Anna's room, you know it was because we were concerned that your power might accidentally slip again. We just wanted to create a... a comfort zone so that you wouldn't have to worry about hurting your sister while you tried to gain control of the magic."

They all knew perfectly well that such an explanation was generous in the extreme. Still, it wasn't exactly untrue either. And Ellinor was absolutely certain that Elsa did not need to hear that, back on that day, her parents had acted primarily out of blind fear of their daughter's inexplicable abilities. So she continued.

"We only ever meant it to be a little bit of physical distance. We never intended you to have to shut Anna out of your life completely. And then, when that happened... Well, we'd hoped that you just needed time to come to grips with things, that you would open up to her again once everything had settled down.

"But it's been more than two years, sweetheart. Anna misses you desperately. I know you miss her too. And I know that this entire situation has been harder on you than on anyone. But at least you get to hear your sister's voice at your door nearly every single day. Anna... she longs for the tiniest bit of contact with you. Surely you know how happy it made her on that day that Marie played for the two of you. Yes, she told me all about it.

"So we're here to ask you: what can we do to help you reach out to your sister again?"

Elsa's face fell as her heart sank. Why? Why was it always her fault? Why did she have to bring so much pain to those she loved? And especially to Anna, who had done absolutely nothing to deserve this. Even when she tried to protect her sister, she hurt her. Of course, in her heart, she'd known that all along. It was just so much more painful hearing it put into words.

"I've tried, Mother. I've done the best I could. It's why I convinced you to celebrate Midsummer's Eve again this year. It's why I thanked Anna for bringing Marie up to play for me, and it's how I managed to not hide when Anna saw me in the window that same day.

"It's just so hard. At first, it was too painful to let myself get close to her again. Then, I was just scared by what might happen if... if I said the wrong thing. And now... Well, I'm still scared. But more than that, I don't even know what I should say to her! How do I possibly explain to her why I haven't said anything for so long, when I can't tell her anything about... about me? About this!" She threw her arms wide, taking in the whole room, encompassing her entire world.

It was her father who answered her this time. "Are you sure that you even need to explain anything at all? Anna knows that there are things we're all keeping from her. She doesn't like it, but she's mostly come to terms with it. And I'm certain that she would be more than willing to bear a thousand secrets if she could only hear your voice when she comes to visit. She loves you, Elsa."

"I love her too, Papa!" Elsa declared fiercely, as if she thought this fact was somehow in question. "Do you think I'd stay locked up in my room all this time for any other reason?"

"No one is suggesting otherwise, sweetheart," Ellinor said consolingly. "And we know it isn't easy. That's why we came here today. You don't have to do this alone. What do you need from us? How can we help?"

Elsa swallowed, fighting to bring her fraying emotions under control. Even through her pain and fear, she recognized her parents' sincere desire to try to ease her burden. And she knew that, if she _could_ somehow find a way to reach out to Anna on a regular basis, it would certainly help her at least as much as it would her sister. So she tried to calm herself and actually consider the question.

Unfortunately, both calm and answers proved to be frustratingly elusive.

"I don't know," she finally admitted, more than a little despondently. "It's all such a mess. But... I'll think about it, okay? I will, I promise."

"That's all we can ask, Elsa," her mother responded with a sympathetic smile. "And we certainly don't mean to pressure you. Take your time. You need to be comfortable with whatever you decide, or it won't really help anyone in the end."

Elsa nodded glumly. Ellinor looked upon her stricken child and felt more powerless than ever. She struggled to think of something more she could say or do to help heal the rift between her two daughters – a chasm that threatened to grow inexorably wider with each passing day. But try as she might, nothing would come to her except the feeling that she was slowly failing her family.

When it finally became clear that inspiration would not be forthcoming, she turned to look at Agdar. By unspoken agreement, they both began to rise.

"Wait!" At Elsa's cry, her parents stopped, watching their daughter. Then, they lowered themselves back to their seats. There was an almost fevered look on the princess's face, her eyes darting back and forth rapidly as her mind rushed to piece together some unknown puzzle. At last, a look of hard-earned illumination transformed her features. She didn't quite smile, but most of the tension seemed to retreat, at least for the moment.

"Before you go..." Elsa hopped off her bed and scurried over to her desk, where she scooped up her sketchbook and began paging through it frantically. When she finally found what she was looking for, she ever so carefully separated the leaf from its binding and began to turn to face her mother and father again. Abruptly, though, she stopped. Then, turning back to the desk, she grabbed a pencil, flipped the drawing over, and hastily scribbled something on the blank side of the sheet. She held up the paper and examined her last minute addition critically before nodding once to herself in satisfaction.

Now she did face the king and the queen, and extended the page towards them. "Please," she said, "give this to Anna for me."

Her mother reached out and carefully took the drawing from her daughter's hands. Holding it so Agdar could see it too, both examined the picture. Then, the king and the queen looked at one another. He raised his eyebrows questioningly; she only shrugged. But turning back to Elsa, Ellinor simply said, "Of course, sweetheart. We'll take it to her right away."

• • •

They found Anna in her room, sitting on the cushions beneath her own window and staring out over the gardens, which were currently clothed in the drab colors of an overcast but snowless winter afternoon. The young girl's pose was so strongly reminiscent of her older sister that Ellinor paused in the doorway for several seconds, just to watch. Eventually, however, she spoke. "Anna?"

When the little princess turned and saw her parents, she hopped off the bench and came to stand near the foot of her bed. "Hello, Mama. Papa."

"We have something for you," Ellinor said. As she moved towards Anna, she held the sheet of paper out before her. Anna looked at it curiously, and was just reaching out to take hold of it when her mother spoke again. "It's from Elsa."

Anna froze, her eyes darting up from the white page to lock with her mother's. The queen smiled kindly and extended the paper another inch closer to her daughter. Cautiously, carefully, Anna took the sheet and gazed down at it.

The queen and king stood quietly, awaiting a reaction of some sort. But Anna just continued to stare at the drawing, a perplexed look beginning to spread across her face. Finally, as the silence grew increasingly uncomfortable, Agdar cleared his throat and said, "There's... something on the back, too."

Anna turned the page over and looked. Then her eyes grew suddenly wide. She flipped back to the front, understanding visibly dawning over her features. Again, she looked at the back, her lips now moving silently. When she finally turned the drawing face up one last time, her expression came alive in a disbelieving smile.

"Disa?"

Then, she began to giggle. The giggles quickly gave way to laughter. She let the paper drop lightly onto her bed and, dashing forward, wrapped her arms around her mother's waist. The laughter was already mixing with happy tears. "Thank you, Mama! Thank you, Papa!"

The two bewildered adults looked at each other, completely at a loss. Agdar walked around his wife and daughter, then gently lifted the page from atop Anna's covers and examined it once again.

The drawing was of two hands, cupped together. They were small hands, a child's hands. And nestled within the bowl of those hands sat a small, fluffy duckling, its bill open as if quacking.

Still no closer to understanding, the king turned the page over and read the short sentence so neatly marked out in the crown princess's delicate hand. _When I grow up, I want to be your sister too. – Elsa_

He looked again at his wife and simply shook his head. The queen tilted her own head and shrugged her eyebrows, then looked down at Anna, who was wearing her biggest smile despite the tracks streaking her cheeks. Ellinor stroked her hair sweetly and, finally deciding that comprehension wasn't really all that important after all, allowed a contented smile to brighten her own face.

Agdar stooped down and placed a hand lightly on Anna's shoulder. Pulling away from her mother slightly, she turned a little to look at him. Then she spun around and threw her arms around his neck. Caught off guard, he rocked backward for a moment, only saving himself by grabbing on to the bed for support. Finally regaining his balance, he enfolded Anna in his arms, then looked up at his wife with a smile of his own.

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. But the right words at the right moment... they can mean everything.


	24. We All Fall Down

Marie loved the harbor. There was always so much to see that she didn't know where to look first.

Of course, there were the boats themselves. Mighty cargo ships, running with their holds full and their drafts deep, lumbered into and out of the largest berths. Faster barques and nimble sloops slid into and out of their docks with relative ease. And then there were the small fishing vessels, bobbing along amid the wakes of the larger craft. Everywhere, the bright white of sailcloth caught the breeze, billowing or fluttering as those aboard ship trimmed or furled them.

Then there were the people, even more diverse than the boats. The local dockworkers, big and burly men, loaded and unloaded cargo using every means at their disposal: nets, cranes, and (as often as not) the simple expedient of hauling crates up and down the gangplanks in their mighty arms. Sailors, under their captains' watchful eyes, prepped their ships to set sail, or battened them down for a prolonged stay in port. A few crews were already enjoying some much needed shore leave, heading off to explore the local pubs and other diversions that could always be found in such busy seaside towns.

That also meant, of course, that many locals frequented the docks and the nearby shores. Tavern and inn keepers would stroll through, trying to gauge how many weary bodies would be likely seeking beds that night. Shop owners would set out carts or stalls of their wares for sale and sample, hoping to draw some business from crew members who'd just received their pay from the latest voyage. Plus, there were usually a few curious types who, like Marie, just came to watch all the goings on or to catch the latest news from across the sea.

But the most interesting people were perhaps the travelers – men and women who had booked passage on various vessels bound to and from the Kingdom of Arendelle. They always seemed to be the most colorful, both figuratively and literally. Merchants, usually in flamboyant finery designed to proclaim to the world just exactly how prosperous they were, stepped off the boats with an eagerness in their step, excited at the prospect of finding new (and profitable) trade opportunities and markets for their goods. Tourists came to visit family or to simply take in the picturesque mountain vistas surrounding the capital. They tended to move slower, looking all about themselves, either trying to spot a familiar face or else drinking in the brightly painted buildings of the coastal town.

Every so often, you might even be lucky enough to see a diplomatic envoy from some neighboring land, come to speak with King Agdar about various important matters of state that Marie couldn't even begin to imagine. It was nearly impossible to miss such a personage when they disembarked their vessel. For one thing, they always seemed to travel with a small retinue of assistants. But even if they had traveled alone, their primly starched formal uniforms would have set them apart. Though every bit as lavish as the merchants' attire, these pieces of finery managed to convey a subdued and understated power, which always came across as far more impressive than even the most extravagant of the trader's outfits.

It was all so very exciting that Marie was always disappointed she couldn't come down here more often. When she had been younger, she had pestered her father constantly to let her join him when he headed off to work. Unfortunately, he always made it quite clear that the busy bustle and barely controlled chaos down at dockside – in short, the things she loved about it the most – made it a completely unsuitable place for a young and unsupervised child, and he simply could not do his job and keep an eye on her at the same time.

As a result, Marie was only allowed down here when her mother was available to escort her. That usually only happened when she had need to come dockside herself: to meet a friend coming into port, to see one off, or sometimes to pick up a parcel that she couldn't wait to have sorted through the usual channels. That was one of the perks of being the harbor master's wife, after all.

Every so often, however, her mother would set aside time just to take her daughter down to the piers and let her enjoy the sights and sounds that she loved so much. Those were special days, and Marie cherished them. Today was such a day.

Part of the reason her mother had decided that it was time for such an excursion, Marie was sure, was simply because it was the first really nice weather Arendelle had enjoyed in about a week. A winter storm had blanketed the kingdom in more than a foot of snow, and the bitter winds had kept nearly everyone inside for days. The blizzard had finally blown itself out the day before yesterday. And even though the sun had finally burned off the clouds with welcomed speed and begun to warm things again, it was only today that the town had finally managed to dig out enough to return to something resembling a normal routine.

The result was that, everywhere you looked, things were more crowded than usual. Stir crazy townsfolk were out and about, enjoying the bright sunshine and the chance to stretch their legs – all while doing their best to ignore the mountains of newly shoveled snow and sporadic patches of still unmelted ice.

So now Marie was perched atop an empty cargo crate, swinging her legs absentmindedly as she drank in the bustle going on all around her. Jacqueline stood a few feet away, catching up on the latest gossip with one of her friends, who worked at the little bistro behind them. The restaurant had been built right out onto the wharf, to better attract the attention and business of the constant stream of new arrivals.

"Marie," her mother called. "Helga and I are going to step inside for a minute and grab something warm to drink. Do you want to join us?"

"Thanks, Mom. But if you don't mind, I'd rather just stay out here."

Jacqueline shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just don't run off, okay? Stay where I can see you through the window."

"I will," Marie promised. As the two women headed inside, she turned back to her sightseeing. At the moment, however, she found that much of her view had been blocked by a heavily laden cart, pulled by two enormous draft horses, that was approaching along the quay.

As she waited for it to pass, she couldn't help but think that there was just one thing that could have made this day even better. Anna. If only her friend were allowed to leave the castle and could be sitting here with her now. Marie craned her neck to try and peer across the harbor to the walls of the castle, sitting out on its little island just offshore, and she wondered what the princess might be doing just then.

• • •

Anna had to admit that there was something to be said for climbing trees in the middle of winter.

It wasn't pretty, of course. You couldn't enjoy that sweet smell of new spring blossoms. You couldn't lose yourself amid the dappled sunlight filtering through the translucent green leaves of summer. Nor were you surrounded by the brilliant colors of the autumn foliage.

On the other hand, you also didn't have to worry about suddenly coming across a nest of angry insects hidden amid those leaves. And the bare branches made it much easier to look for your next hand and footholds. That was especially important when you weren't just interested in climbing aimlessly upwards, but instead had a very firm destination in mind. Anna shimmied out a little further along the bough upon which she stood, then reached up to grab another limb. Pulling herself up higher still, she looked around for the next promising branch that would let her move even closer to her destination.

The seed of this latest adventure had been planted by her and Marie's frequent trips to the main watchtower.

Early on in their friendship, Anna had taken Marie on a full circuit of the walls and all the towers that surrounded the castle grounds. And though they'd climbed to the top of each turret and peered out every window, both had wholeheartedly agreed that the biggest tower was the best vantage point. This was not just because it was the tallest tower, nor because it offered the best view out across the fjord. No, the real reason was because it was the only tower that was open to the sky.

All the other towers were completely enclosed, and the thick walls that connected them were all covered with sloping roofs. For a guard patrolling the castle perimeter, this meant welcome shade from the summer heat and protection from the elements. But for two young girls looking to spend some time outdoors, basking in the sun and enjoying the fresh breezes off the water, such a canopy was completely counterproductive. So they had found themselves returning to the same spot time and time again to watch the ships gliding across the still waters of the bay.

There was just one small drawback, however. The mightiest turret was on the opposite side of the castle from the harbor. That meant that the bulk of the fortifications and the palace itself blocked their view of the sailing vessels once they passed the lighthouse walls. They could see nothing of the ships docking and unloading, of the hectic buzz of activity that Marie had told Anna she enjoyed so much.

As a result, the two girls would, from time to time, race around to the harbor side of the castle. The towers here were actually pretty useless for viewing much of anything, however. The windows were narrow, and they were set at the same height as the tops of the walls. Though there were larger openings in the crowns of the turrets, they were each covered by four heavy wooden slats. The middle two were hinged to swing up and down, providing a gap through which watchers could survey the surrounds from any angle. Archers could also be stationed upon those heights, and from there could defend the castle from attack on any front. But Arendelle had been at peace with the neighboring states for generations, so the guards rarely had need to even man the towers these days.

The problem was that the hinged slats had been placed at a comfortable height for a full grown man. The two young girls could barely reach the latches when they stood on tiptoe. Even if they had been able to get them open, they still wouldn't have been able to see out unless they hauled step stools up the tower stairs every time. It was quite a shame really, because the towers would have provided some truly splendid viewing locations.

So she and Marie were forced to look out from atop the walls instead. At least this did let them watch the frenzied hubbub on the docks and piers. But it lacked the same lofty height as the towers, so they couldn't see as far. Plus, the gap between railing and roof was not all that large, so their view of the majestic masts of the tallest ships was quite often blocked as well.

It had taken a long while before the ideal solution to this dilemma had finally come to Anna. The cause of these problems could actually be the answer too! While it was true that the roofs atop the castle walls were sloped, they really weren't all that steep. Besides, there were vents spaced every few feet, covered by decorative gables that would make perfect seats for her and Marie to straddle. Then, they'd have the best of all worlds: a clear angle on the docks, open to the air and sun, with no obstructions to impair the view. It would be perfect!

Except, of course, for the one teeny little problem of getting onto the roof in the first place.

She'd been pondering that obstacle for quite some time, without too much in the way of inspiration. The easiest way would have been to drop down from one of the towers. Of course, if she had been able to open the boards on their upper concourses in the first place, then she wouldn't have had any need to crawl out onto the rooftop to begin with. Eventually resigning herself to the fact that dropping down was not an option, she came to the obvious conclusion that her only other choice would be to climb up.

So Anna had begun to look at the grounds with a new eye, trying to spot something that might present the avenue she needed. She'd examined the columns that supported the walkways and roofs, but they were far too smooth to offer any purchase. She looked at the tower walls, but the stonework was too finely joined to offer much hope either.

When the obvious answer finally occurred to her, she felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. Most of the trees in the garden simply weren't tall enough to reach to the tops of the castle walls. However, there was one ancient oak that towered above the rest. And some of its outermost branches brushed the outlying canopies.

Sure, the gardens were on the wrong side of the castle. But Anna figured if she should get onto the roof there, she could find a way to skirt along it until she reached the other side. The towers in between might cause a few difficulties, of course. Still, Anna had never been one to let seemingly insurmountable logistics problems such as those get in the way of a good adventure!

She had decided to wait to unveil her idea to Marie until she had a chance to confirm for herself that it would even work. Since Marie came to visit so often, however, such an opportunity had taken a long while to present itself. But with her friend spending today down at the docks with her mother, Anna had decided that this was the perfect time to see if she could really pull it off.

So now here she was, crawling out on one of the tree's longest branches as it bobbed precariously under her weight. She stretched out her arm as far as it could go. Her fingertips just barely brushed the lip of the roof. She edged forward a little more and tried again. Just a bit farther...

• • •

Elsa closed her eyes and listened to the queen's voice as she read aloud from one of their favorite books of verse. They had finished the day's lessons, but Elsa had convinced her mother (not that it had taken much persuading) to read her a poem or two before she left. Of course, the princess still read poetry to herself all the time. It wasn't the same, though, as hearing the words actually spoken, especially by one who spoke them as well as Queen Ellinor.

After she'd read three poems, however, her mother had insisted that Elsa read a few to her as well. So back and forth they had gone, each reading a few of their favorites while the other listened. What had originally seemed likely to only be a few minutes' diversion had now gone on for over an hour. Unsurprisingly, neither reader seemed to mind all that much. Both considered it a most excellent way to spend a nippy winter afternoon.

The only downside was that, sitting in her favorite spot by the window, with the sunlight shining through the panes of glass and creating a pleasant bubble of warmth in the alcove, Elsa could feel herself succumbing to a comfortable drowsiness. She shook herself, not wanting to seem rude by falling asleep, nor wanting to miss any of her mother's recitation. But as her eyes began to slide shut yet again, she knew that she would not be able to fight it off for very much longer.

Then there came a knock at the door. It was loud and quite urgent. "Your Majesty?"

Ellinor paused in her reading and looked over at her daughter. Elsa looked back, suddenly quite awake. This was most unusual. Neither could remember anyone on the palace staff ever interrupting one of the queen's visits before. It had been made quite clear that no one was to disturb Elsa except for her family. That automatically made everyone reluctant to knock on the princess's door to begin with. And to date, no crisis had ever arisen while either the king or queen were in Elsa's room that hadn't been able to wait until their stay was done.

Clearly, this did not bode well.

The queen set down her book and crossed to the door. Opening it just far enough to address the person in the hall, she asked, "Yes, what is it?"

Elsa didn't immediately recognize the voice that answered. It wasn't Kai or Gerda or any of the senior staff, which was even more peculiar. If this was important enough to seek out the queen here and now, why would a junior servant be delivering the message? Then the words being spoken actually registered.

"Your Majesty, there has been an accident."

Elsa sat bolt upright. She saw her mother's posture stiffen as she put her first and most dire fear into words. "Anna? Is she alright? What happened?"

"No, Your Majesty," replied the unseen voice, clearly uncomfortable at being put into this position, but determined to perform the duty it had been given. "Princess Anna is fine. Nothing has happened to her. It's... the other girl. The princess's friend."

"Marie?"

The queen turned at the sound of her daughter's choked exclamation. Each saw the same look of shock and worry mirrored in the other's eyes. Opening the door a little wider, Ellinor slipped out into the corridor. "What happened? Where is Marie now?"

"She has been rushed to the physician, Your Majesty. I do not know any more than that. I was sent to fetch you as soon as the news first reached the castle."

"Fine, fine. Where is Anna? Has anyone found her yet?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. She's in the parlor. Gerda was also there when I left, attempting to comfort the princess. Kai went to inform King Agdar, so they may be with her by now as well."

"Very well. Thank you, you may go." Elsa heard the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps as the door opened once again.

"Elsa..." her mother began.

"Go, Mother!" Elsa declared, hearing the mounting distress beginning to creep into her voice. "Go to Anna!"

Ellinor nodded once, did her best to offer a reassuring smile to her elder daughter, then spun on her heel and left the room as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

The frightened princess sat there for a very long time, staring at the still open door that her mother had, in her haste, not bothered to close. Oh, Marie. What could have happened? It had to have been bad if both her parents had been summoned at the news. And Anna. Elsa could feel the tightness in her own chest, and she'd had only had a few brief encounters with her sister's friend. This had to be absolutely tearing Anna apart right now. Her sister had been through so much already in her young life, and now this?

Finally, finding herself simply unable to sit still for one second longer, Elsa slid down off her seat. Crossing the room, she reached for the door and grasped the handle. Then, she closed the door...

...pulling it shut behind her.

Now she stood in the passageway, outside of her room again for the first time in months. Yes, she was scared. But if Anna had ever needed her big sister, this was the time. She didn't know what she could possibly do except to just be there for her. She could only hope that it might help, even a little.

Taking a deep breath, Elsa turned and strode off down the corridor – heading for the stairwell, and for the parlor, and for her little sister and her aching heart.


	25. The Weight of Waiting

Elsa slipped quietly through the open parlor door. Once inside, she paused to take in the room before her.

The queen was seated in one of the high-backed, comfortably upholstered chairs, but it was abundantly clear that she was anything but comfortable. Anna was curled up in her lap, her face buried in her mother's shoulder. Her whole body was shaking, and the sounds of her sobs, though muffled, were still clearly audible. They were, after all, the only sound in the room. Ellinor held her daughter in her arms, her head bowed so that her mouth was right next to Anna's ear. Elsa could see her mother's lips moving in a whisper so quiet that no one but her sister would be able to hear her.

Gerda stood just behind the chair, apparently having occupied it herself until the queen's arrival. Her normally cheerful face now held a look of impotent anguish as she bore silent witness to Anna's pain. Down by her sides, her hands kept grasping fistfuls of her skirt, only to let them drop. The nervous movement was repeated over and over again.

The king stood with Kai just a few paces away from the women. Both men wore glazed expressions of shock and helplessness. In fact, it looked to Elsa as if her father's legs were apt to give way if he attempted to move even an inch in any direction. His eyes were fixed on his wife and younger daughter, but they seemed to be blinking rather more than usual. Suddenly Elsa realized that, for the first time she could ever recall, her father's eyes were glistening with moisture, and that his blinking was a furious attempt to keep the tears at bay.

A few junior members of the palace staff stood awkwardly around the walls, clearly feeling like intruders on this far too personal moment. Nevertheless, their loyalty to the royal family kept them at hand, ready to run any errand or deliver any message at a moment's notice.

Elsa herself remained standing just inside the door for many minutes, struggling to figure out what her place might possibly be within this terrible scene. Finally making up her mind, she crossed the room silently to stand by her father. Reaching up, she slipped her right hand into his left. Only then did he look down and notice her there by his side. It was perhaps telling of his mental state at that moment that his face did not show even the slightest hint of surprise. Instead, he only squeezed her hand tightly, then returned his attention again to Anna and Ellinor.

When the minutes continued to stretch onward with no news, those who had been standing were finally forced to settle in for the long wait. Agdar and Elsa claimed the settee. Her father held her close to his side, running his hand up and down her arm from elbow to shoulder. Kai took one of the other chairs, but he remained restless. Sometimes he would lean forward, elbows resting on his knees and his face in his hands. Other times, he would lean back into the chair, but his right leg would almost immediately begin to bounce so rapidly that it was very nearly a vibration.

Gerda was even more anxious, to the point where she didn't even appear to consider the possibility of sitting. Instead, she paced back and forth in a tight little path behind the queen's chair. Now and then, she would wring her hands together or mutter so quietly to herself that no one else could make out the words.

The minutes became hours. Anna's sobs had ceased, but only because she had worn herself out with crying. Agdar took Ellinor's place for a while then, holding his younger daughter so his wife could work some feeling back into her benumbed legs. Once they had stopped tingling, she came and sat with Elsa. The two held hands, their fingers intertwined.

Junior staffers were sent with some regularity to inquire on the physician's progress. Each time, they returned with the woefully unsatisfactory report that he was still sequestered with Marie and that as soon as there was anything to report, the messenger that was already waiting there would be dispatched posthaste to deliver the update. Anton and Jacqueline were at the physician's office as well, waiting impatiently to be allowed to see their daughter again.

The queen returned to the chair and to Anna. This time, however, the princess chose not to climb into her mother's lap. Instead, she simply sat next to her on the chair cushion and leaned her head against Ellinor's chest. With her mother's arm draped around her shoulders, and the exhaustion from the long afternoon weighing heavily upon her, the poor girl finally slipped into an uneasy slumber.

Kai stood then and quietly excused himself, citing the need to (among other things) make arrangements to clear the king's schedule for the following day. Only after he had left the room did Elsa work up the courage to speak herself. Turning to her father, who was sitting next to her once again, she finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her for hours. "What happened, Papa?"

The king and queen exchanged looks across the low table. Then Agdar drew in a deep breath, letting it out slowly before starting to answer. He kept his voice low and quiet, so as not to disturb Anna. "All of the details aren't entirely clear. We know that Marie was down at the docks today with her mother. Jacqueline had gone inside a little restaurant by the wharf for a drink, but Marie chose to remain outside.

"While she was sitting there, a cart drove past. It was packed with a number of very heavy crates. Too many and too heavy, it now appears. This is where things are a little unclear, because it seems nobody was looking in her direction when everything happened. But from what we've been able to piece together, the cart went to turn inland, up a street that leads to the shop where it was to deliver its load. It seems likely that one of its wheels hit a patch of ice, and that caused the entire cart to begin to slew to one side. Towards Marie.

"Well, the sudden shift in weight of all those heavy boxes was apparently too much for the old ropes that were holding them in place. One of them snapped, and suddenly the topmost crates came tumbling off the cart. The noise of their collapse finally caught everyone's attention and brought men running. And that was when they found Marie, pinned from the waist down beneath one of the heaviest containers. The poor girl was unconscious, though perhaps that was a mercy. It took three strong men to lift the crate off of her.

"Thankfully, someone had the presence of mind to rush and fetch the physician immediately. He returned quickly and examined Marie on the spot. He then gave very specific instructions on how her limbs were to be supported, supervised the preparations, and then had her taken straight to his office. And... that's all we know."

Elsa had felt the blood draining from her face as her father had recounted the accident. Now, she looked down at her hands resting lightly in her lap, and found that they were trembling. Clenching them tightly into fists, she looked across to her sleeping sister. Oh, Anna...

"Goodness gracious, it's nearly dinnertime," Gerda suddenly blurted out, just a touch too loudly. Sure enough, everyone turned toward the windows and saw that the light outside was indeed beginning to fade. "And dear me, I haven't started a thing. Well, would anyone like something to eat?" She attempted to mimic her usual breezy demeanor. But when it looked like her question would go unanswered, her face began to fall.

"I don't think anyone has an appetite for dinner," Queen Ellinor spoke quietly into the silence. "But I doubt that I'm the only one who could really use a cup of your... special tea right about now." Agdar nodded his agreement. "Elsa?"

"Yes, tea would be fine, thank you," she replied. Then she felt the color return to her cheeks as her stomach gurgled loudly and traitorously.

Her mother gave her a small, sympathetic smile. "And perhaps a light snack would not go amiss either."

Gerda, grateful to have something she could finally do besides wait, nodded smartly. "Right you are, Your Majesty. I'll be back in a blink." So saying, she strode briskly out of the parlor. With her departure, the royal family once again fell into silence.

• • •

Not quite a quarter of an hour had passed when Gerda returned, carrying a well-laden tray, which she set carefully down upon the table. She handed already steaming cups to the king and queen, then filled a third from the generous teapot she had brought. This cup, she handed to Elsa. Taking the final already filled cup for her own, she selected a few small items from the platter of cheese and biscuits that took up most of the rest of the tray. Then, balancing teacup and food on her saucer, she finally took a seat in one of the empty chairs.

Elsa and Ellinor leaned forward and each helped themselves to a few bites of their own off the platter. Anna, awakened by her mother's movement, stirred and sat up, rubbing her eyes muzzily. The queen offered her a small block of cheese, which she accepted. But she only nibbled around the edges without any great enthusiasm.

They all looked up when the sound of Kai's voice came from the doorway. "Your Majesties," he announced in a tone that was calmer than it had any right to be, "Dr. Claussen has come himself to deliver his report."

Everyone in the parlor was instantly on their feet, turning as one to face the entrance. Anna clung to her mother's hand like a lifeline. As Kai stood aside, an older, bespectacled man entered, looking so weary that he appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Nevertheless, he managed a perfunctory bow. King Agdar graciously gestured the man to one of the vacant chairs, and he accepted the offer with a grateful nod. Once seated, he massaged the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, pushing his glasses up his face as he did so. No one else made a sound. No one else breathed. Finally, the exhausted man spoke.

"The girl will live," he declared, "barring, of course, any infections or other complications."

Every held breath in the room was released at once. Smiles spread across most of the assembled faces. Queen Ellinor dropped to her knees and drew Anna into a hug as the little princess began to shake again with silent release. Only Agdar continued to scrutinize the physician's face, his expression largely unchanged. He had too often found himself seated across from emissaries who had been sent to reluctantly deliver ill news to the King of Arendelle, and he recognized that same look in this man's face now.

"But?" he prodded. Every head turned to look at him, and then at the doctor. The older man sighed deeply.

"Her legs were badly broken," he admitted. "I've done the best I could to set the bones, and I've splinted the legs and bound them in bandages soaked in Dextrin. It's a relatively new technique. When the bandages dry in about six hours, they should immobilize the legs and help speed the healing.

"However, I am no surgeon. I have done what I can, but I do not know if it will be enough. Damage this severe simply requires a specialist. And even then, there's no guarantee..."

"Fine," the king interrupted. "We'll send for a specialist at once. A surgeon, you say? Who do you recommend? We can have the fastest ship in the navy ready to set sail in a matter of hours."

Dr. Claussen shook his head. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple. It's not just a matter of the man. It's also equipment. It's facilities. And it's time. A round trip to request such services, to wait for everything to be collected and then shipped back here, would take far too long.

"I've already discussed this with the girl's parents. I believe the best thing given her situation would be to send her to such a specialist. In fact, there is an eminent surgeon back in her native country of France by the name of Velpeau. He was the one who refined the technique that I employed to bandage the girl's legs. I can think of no one more qualified to handle this case. Besides, her mother and father still have family there. Their help will be much needed during this trying time."

A strangled sob made everyone turn. Anna's face was contorted with despair and sorrow. "Marie," she choked out. She was unable to say anything more. She just stared at the man who had, mere moments ago, delivered the news that her friend seemed to have been returned to her against all her worst fears. Now, he was saying that she must be torn away from her after all.

Ellinor, still kneeling on the floor, wrapped her arms around her daughter and pulled her back against her chest. But Anna did not turn and hide her face this time. She seemed unable to tear her eyes away from the doctor, even as fresh tears ran thickly down her cheeks. Elsa could feel her own heart breaking at the sight of her sister's pain.

Agdar dropped to one knee in front of his younger daughter. "Anna," he began in a voice not much above a whisper. "Anna, Marie needs this. It's her best chance to be well and whole again. You understand that, right?" Anna finally shifted her eyes to focus on her father, but gave no other response except for another shuddering sob.

"Anna," he said, reaching out and cupping her cheek with one hand. "I know this is hard. And I am so sorry you have to go through this. But if Marie doesn't go, and go soon, it's possible that she might never walk again."

"Even with such treatments, that still remains a possibility," Dr. Claussen commented somberly. The queen shot him a scathing looking over her husband's shoulder, but the physician merely shrugged. "My profession often requires me to deliver unwelcome news, and I have found that giving out false hope often only makes matters worse. The truth, however painful, needs to be known by all. That said, the girl's chances will be greatly improved under Dr. Velpeau's care."

"Marie," Anna said. This time, however, it was not a sob. It was a fierce statement aimed directly at the doctor. "Not, 'the girl.' Her name is Marie!"

Claussen inclined his head. "My apologies."

The princess refocused on her father's face once more. She took one trembling breath, and then spoke. "Help her, Papa. Please. Do whatever it takes. Just... help Marie."

That exhausted the last of whatever control she had still been clinging to. Wrenching free from her mother's embrace, she bolted from the room, her weeping echoing as she fled down the corridor.

"Anna!" her mother called after her. She spared a momentary glance at Agdar, who merely nodded. Then she lifted up her skirts and took off in pursuit of the retreating princess.

The king stood and turned to face the physician once more. "How soon will Marie be able to travel?"

Dr. Claussen considered this briefly. "I suppose that would depend on the type of shipboard accommodations she would be traveling under."

"You tell me, Doctor," Agdar replied. "Any ship in the royal navy. If I have to, I will commandeer any ship in the harbor. Just tell me what she needs, and I will make it happen."

The doctor nodded. "Then I think she could be ready to leave as early as tomorrow afternoon, provided the family can be packed and have their affairs settled by then."

"I will see to the settling of any and all affairs," the king assured him. "And we will provide any assistance they may need to speed their packing as well." Then he looked around the room, as if taking stock of the situation. His eyes fell on Elsa and lingered there for a long moment before he spoke again. "Kai, would you mind starting work with the good doctor to determine exactly what preparations will be necessary? I'll join you both in a moment."

"Of course, Your Majesty," Kai replied. Then, addressing the physician, "If you'll please follow me."

The steward led the doctor out of the room. With a jerk of her head, Gerda indicated to the junior staff along the walls that the time had come for their departure as well, and she followed them to the door. As she turned to draw it closed behind her, she took one last look at the king and the princess, alone in the middle of the room. Then, with a sad shake of her head, she shut the door.

Agdar looked down at his elder daughter. "Elsa," he began. But she cut him off before he could say another word.

"I know, Papa," she said. "Anna needs you and Mother far more than I do right now. Take care of her. Take care of Marie. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

Her father lowered himself to one knee before her, then reached out to grasp one of her hands tenderly in his own. "I want you to know that I am so proud of you, Elsa," he said. "You've grown up so much these last few years. More than you should have needed to. But..." And here, he hesitated before speaking again.

"I think that Anna's going to need more than just her mother and me to get through this. I have the feeling that she's going to need her big sister too, more than ever before. I know you're still struggling with reaching out to her. But if ever you could find a way..."

Elsa stared fixedly into her father's imploring eyes. Then, swallowing hard, she nodded. "I'll... I'll try."

Agdar smiled understandingly. "I know you will," he replied. Then he leaned forward and kissed her gently upon her forehead. "Well, you might as well go back to your room now. It's late, and tomorrow will be a very busy day."

"Okay," she said meekly as their eyes met again. "I love you, Papa."

"I love you too, princess." Straightening once again, the king walked his daughter to the door and held it open for her as she walked through. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night."

• • •

Sleep eluded Elsa, however. She lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind refusing to stop its constant replay of the day's traumatic events. Every time she saw Anna's face in her mind's eye at the moment when she realized that Marie was going to be leaving, she had to fight back tears. She found herself more grateful than ever for her gloves. Despite her emotional turmoil, her powers somehow had remained in check. Small favors and all that.

She wasn't sure if Anna had even realized that her sister had been in the parlor with her the whole time. After all, she'd spent most of the afternoon and evening curled up in their mother's arms, either crying or sleeping. In the end, though, she supposed it didn't really matter. Elsa _had_ been there. It was the longest time she'd spent in the same room with Anna since... well, since they'd shared a bedroom. Even her ill-fated birthday party hadn't lasted so long. Add in today's raw emotions, and it had felt ten times longer still.

So even though they hadn't actually spoken at all, it was still something. Maybe it was something they could build upon. Maybe. Maybe.

As often happens, Elsa had no memory of falling asleep. She only realized that it must have happened when she was startled awake by a muffled thump. Her eyes flew open, but she otherwise remained perfectly still, listening carefully to hear if the sound would repeat itself. It did not, but another sound did. It was barely perceptible, and she almost convinced herself that she had imagined it. It had sounded like the quiet rustle of clothing.

She sat up in bed and turned towards her door, still straining her ears and waiting. Then the slight whisper of fabric came again, followed this time by the faintest of whimpers.

Elsa dropped silently to the floor, then tiptoed across the room and got down on her hands and knees. Lowering her head, she peeked beneath the door. In the darkness, she couldn't make out much. But there was definitely something lying on the floor outside.

No, not something. Someone.

Trembling, she got to her feet. Then, her hand shaking terribly, she reached out and clutched the door handle. With a great effort of will, she slowly turned it and opened the door just enough to be able to peer out into the hall. Even though she knew what she was going to see, it still took her breath away.

Anna lay curled up in front of her door, dressed in nothing but her nightclothes. She was shivering slightly, and she was clutching something fiercely to her chest. Elsa, not quite able to make out the object, dared to open the door just a little wider to let a sliver of moonlight spill out into the corridor. When she realized what it was, her heart nearly shattered.

Her sister was clinging to the doll that Elsa had arranged for her to receive last Midsummer's Eve – the doll that looked just like Marie.

Elsa stood transfixed for the longest time, feeling woefully unprepared to deal with this. Her mind refused to comprehend the situation. She had put Anna through so much already. She had shut her out almost completely for two and a half years. And yet here she was, in perhaps the most desperate pain of her young life, and she still came to her older sister for comfort.

It was too much. Elsa didn't deserve a sister as loyal as Anna. And Anna deserved so much more than Elsa could give her. Never before in her life had she ever felt so completely inadequate, so absolutely unworthy. She took one last pained look at her sister.

Then she closed the door.

• • •

And opened it again a minute later. Opened it just wide enough to let her slip quietly into the hallway with her two small burdens. The first was a warm blanket, which she spread lightly over Anna's sleeping form. The other was a pillow, which she placed against the door. Then, ever so gently, she lifted her sister's head, laying it back down on her lap as she sat down with her back against the cushion.

Elsa of Arendelle sat outside her own door, late into the night. She softly stroked her sister's shoulder and her hair. She felt Anna's shivering stop, saw her body uncurl from the tight ball into which it had been constricted. She kept watch over her sister for hours, fighting off her own weariness for as long as she possibly could. Only when she knew she couldn't keep her own eyes open for another minute did she finally slide free and, with one last backward glance, slip back into her room.

Anna awoke sometime later, with a blanket over her body and a pillow under her head. She had no memory of how either had come to be there. Blearily, she decided that her mother or father must have found her lying there and so provided the items of comfort. With grief still heavy upon her heart, she never stopped to consider that either of her parents would most likely have just picked her up and carried her back to bed.

Wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and tucking the pillow under her arm, Anna walked slowly back to her room. All on her own.


	26. Until We Meet Again

Anna sat by her window, still curled up in the blanket from the night before, and watched as dawn broke over the mountains. The narrow band of gold that painted the snow capped peaks quickly gave way to a broad expanse of forget-me-not blue across the remainder of the cloudless sky. The sunlight glinted like jewels off the waters of the fjord, just visible above the castle walls. It was a beautiful morning.

It only made Anna feel even more miserable. She wanted the weather to match her mood. It should be gray and drab and dark. The sun should be hiding its face behind the clouds. And it ought to be raining. There should be so much rain that the entire world became blurry and vague and uncertain. Because that's what it was to her right now.

She had returned to her room less than an hour ago and hadn't even bothered trying to go back to sleep. Instead, she had just crawled up onto the cushioned bench beneath the window and stared out at the last remnants of the night, quietly dreading the coming of the new day. She was not ready to face it. But now it was here, and she had no choice.

Slipping down to the floor, she walked over to her small wardrobe and opened the doors. Then she gazed with absolute disinterest at the dresses hanging within. After all, what difference did it make which she wore today? She was almost ready to close the door and simply turn away when a small swatch of color caught her eye. At one end of the rack, a small corner of fabric was just barely visible. The rest of the garment was lost behind her various other frocks. She pushed all of those aside, however, and carefully took down that one hidden article of clothing.

It was the sea green dress that she had worn last March when she and Marie were to have set out on the _Voloe_'s maiden voyage. The disappointments of that day had been such that she had buried the dress behind all her others and had very nearly forgotten about it. But as she looked at it now, she remembered another dress of the exact same color – a tiny dress upon the little redheaded doll that Elsa had gifted to Marie.

Anna turned toward the window and saw her own brown-haired doll lying there on top of the blanket that she had left behind. She looked back down at the dress in her hands. Then she made up her mind. This would be the last day that she and Marie would see each other for... for a very long time. So let Marie remember it every time she looked at that doll. Let Marie remember her friend, cheerful and smiling and supportive. Let her take that memory with her back to France. Anna could give her that much.

She dressed quickly, then made her way down to the kitchen. She knew that breakfast would be served before too very long, but she really did not feel like facing her mother and father around the table just yet. Still, she hadn't eaten much of anything since the morning of the previous day. And though she really didn't feel that interested in food either, her stomach's persistent complaints had finally won out.

She would have preferred to slip in and out completely unseen. Still, she realized that it was far more likely she would encounter Gerda there, preparing the morning meal, so she had steeled herself for that possibility. However, she was not at all ready for what she encountered when she came around the doorpost.

Her mother was bent over one of the counters on the far side of the room, her elbows resting on the surface and her face buried in her hands. Gerda stood beside her, running her hand comfortingly up and down the queen's back. Though her mother was turned away from the door, Gerda caught Anna's arrival out of the corner of her eye and glanced over at the princess. Then, bending low, she whispered into her friend's ear.

The queen immediately straightened, brushing a hand quickly across her cheeks. Then she turned to her daughter and gifted her with a somewhat watery smile. "Hello, sweetheart. You must be hungry, hmm? Well, of course you are. Why else would you be down here in the kitchen this early in the morning? Let's find you something to eat, alright?" Ellinor looked around dazedly for a moment, as if this was her first time in the kitchen. Then, spotting a basket of rolls near the stove, she crossed the room and went to pick it up.

Her hands were shaking so badly that the small loaves tumbled out onto the counter and rolled this way and that. Ellinor just stood there nonplussed for a moment before setting the nearly empty container back down and leaning heavily on the edge of the counter. Her head fell forward despondently. Gerda came quickly to her side and, placing her hands firmly on the queen's shoulders, steered her to a chair and lowered her into it. Then the older woman returned to the counter and began to gather the errant rolls back into the basket once more.

For the span of several breaths, there was no sound in the room. Then, without looking up, the queen spoke.

"I'm sorry, Anna," she said softly. "I wish there was something I could do to make this easier, to make it all better. That's what a mother is supposed to do, isn't it? Protect her children, keep them safe and secure. Let them know joy and triumph. Help them through the little pains and sorrows that can't be avoided. But above all, to hold the worst of life at bay, at least for a little while.

"If that's the measure of a proper parent, I certainly have done a poor job with you and your sister. I only hope you can forgive me."

Gerda clucked her tongue and turned around, prepared to scold Ellinor for talking such nonsense, particularly in front of her own daughter. She held her peace, however, when she saw Anna walking slowly across the room toward her mother. Her steps were hesitant, looking for all the world like a timid rabbit ready to turn and bolt at the slightest sign of danger. And yet she did not run. It took a little time, but soon enough the young princess was standing right in front of the queen.

Ellinor looked up straight into Anna's eyes. The two remained just like that for a very long while. Neither said a word, and yet volumes seemed to pass between them. Finally, Anna took the final step that separated them and planted a gentle kiss on her mother's cheek. When she withdrew, the queen looked slightly stunned. She reached up and lightly felt the spot that her daughter's lips had just touched, as if expecting to find some sort of mark left behind.

Then she reached out and tucked an imaginary lock of hair back behind Anna's ear. No stray strands had actually come lose from the girl's braids, but that didn't matter to either of them. It was still the right gesture for the moment. Ellinor didn't try to smile, for she knew it would be forced and out of place. But she tried to put all the warmth she could into her eyes as she held her daughter's gaze.

Those eyes could hold more warmth than all the suns of summer, Gerda thought. Then she turned away from the all too private moment and busied herself with putting together a quick breakfast for three.

• • •

"When can I see Marie?"

Anna's first words of the day came as they finished up their light meal. It had taken her that long to work up the courage to even ask the question. Of course, she wanted to see her friend before she departed on her voyage back to France. And she couldn't bear the thought of only having a few hurried minutes to say goodbye at the dockside. At the same time, though, the thought of seeing Marie swathed in bandages, unable to walk or even stand, was almost more than she could bear. Part of her did not want that to be the last image she had to hold on to.

In the end, however, she knew that Marie would want the chance to see her too, and would also want enough time to say a proper goodbye. So she finally swallowed whatever fears she might have had and put herself forward.

"I... I'm not really sure, sweetheart," her mother answered. "Certainly, Dr. Claussen will need some time to examine her this morning, and to prepare her for the trip. I just don't have any idea how long that could take."

"Well, can't I at least go and wait there?" Anna countered. "I know it might be a long wait, but I'd rather be close by so I... so we don't waste any time."

Ellinor considered her daughter for a moment, then nodded. "Of course, Anna. You're absolutely right. Gerda," she said, turning to the other woman, "when Agdar comes down to breakfast, would you please let him know where Anna and I have gone?"

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gerda replied with a nod.

The queen stood then and, offering her hand to her daughter, walked with her out of the kitchen, out of the palace, and through the castle gates. They crossed the bridge that separated the castle from the mainland. It opened out onto the docks, which were beginning to come alive despite the early hour. Many fisherman had already set sail before daybreak, and now the crews of the larger boats were beginning to appear. The first stalls and tents were being set up along the wharf by sleepy apprentices and workers.

Fortunately, the crowds were still light enough – and all sufficiently occupied in their own business – that Ellinor and Anna were able to skirt around the edges without drawing much notice. Soon, they reached a twisting road that wound its way up the hill. Taking it, they made their way quietly among the various homes and store fronts. Most of the rest of the town had not quite woken up yet, so they were fortunate enough to encounter few other pedestrians along the way.

Even though this was only her second time outside the castle in years, Anna's gaze did not rove across the sights. Curiosity was simply not in her today. She just watched the cobbled road ahead of her until they finally arrived at the physician's door. The queen knocked, out of consideration for the early hour. When the door opened, however, it was not Dr. Claussen who stood within.

"Your Majesty!" Jacqueline exclaimed softly, dipping her skirts politely. "Please, come in."

The two entered to find themselves in a small waiting room, just big enough to hold half a dozen chairs. A closed door on the far wall led to the rest of the office. Anton sat in the seat nearest that door, looking every bit as haggard and drawn as his wife. When he saw the new arrivals, he immediately began to get to his feet, but the queen motioned for him to remain seated. Jacqueline moved to stand beside her husband, who reached up almost automatically to grip her hand.

Anna stood half hidden behind her mother's skirts. She suddenly felt terribly self-conscious and guilty. She had been so wrapped up in her own sorrow, she had never stopped to think about Marie's parents and what they must be going through. She shouldn't have come. This was a time for the family to be together. They surely would not want outsiders intruding on their grief. She and her mother should just turn around and go.

She had actually grabbed hold of her mother's sleeve, ready to suggest just that, when Jacqueline caught sight of her. "Anna," she said, "we're so glad you came. Marie's been asking for you."

"For me?" the princess responded in surprise.

"Yes. As soon as we told her that we would have to be leaving Arendelle, she wanted to see you."

Anna suddenly found it very hard to breathe. In the midst of all her pain, Marie had still thought of her? Somehow, through all the time that they had spent together, Anna had become convinced that she needed Marie far more than the other way round. After all, Marie was Anna's only real playmate, but Marie could make as many friends as she wanted. Why should she mean so much to Marie? She wasn't anything special. She was just... Anna! Even now, she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it. Surely, there must be some mistake.

Anton spoke then. "The doctor is examining her now," he said thickly. In his worry, his accent had become heavier than Anna had ever heard it before, to the point where she had trouble making out a few of his words. "Once he is finished, you can come with us to see her. I know she would like that."

They all took seats then, and the waiting resumed. Ellinor attempted to engage Marie's parents by asking them about their plans for when they returned to France. Did they have a place to stay? How close would they be to family? Jacqueline responded for them both, and she answered politely enough. However, it was clear that she was distracted with thoughts of her own, so the conversation soon died out.

Finally, the inner door opened and Dr. Claussen appeared. His eyes widened a little behind his spectacles at the unexpected sight of the Queen of Arendelle waiting in his office. "Your Majesty," he bowed. Then he addressed the room at large. "The girl... Marie is resting comfortably. I've given her something for the pain, so she may seem a little disconnected. But you may go and sit with her now. There shouldn't be anything more to be done until the time comes to transport her to the ship."

Jacqueline and Anton thanked the doctor, then stood and turned to the queen and the princess. Anna looked up at her mother. "You go on," Ellinor told her. "I'll wait right here until you're done. We don't want to overwhelm Marie, after all." Biting her lower lip in apprehension, Anna nodded. Then, still not feeling quite like she truly belonged here, she followed Marie's parents out of the room.

The three walked down the short corridor until they reached a door on the right that had been left just slightly ajar. Jacqueline knocked softly and called out, "Honey, we're back," before pushing it open and stepping inside.

Marie was lying in a tall bed, a thin white sheet covering her up to her armpits. Her head, cushioned on a pillow, turned towards the door as they entered. And though her eyes were a little glassy from the painkillers, she nevertheless smiled at the sight. "Hello," she said a bit fuzzily.

"Marie," her mother said in something close to a cheerful voice, "look who's come to see you?"

The bedridden girl seemed to work to focus her eyes a little better as Jacqueline stepped to one side and, placing a hand on the princess's shoulder, urged her forward.

"Anna!" Marie exclaimed, and her smile grew all the broader. "Oh, I've been hoping you would visit."

With another encouraging nudge from Marie's mother, Anna walked over to the bed. Her chin barely came up to the top of the mattress, so it was a little awkward. But a moment later, she felt strong hands under her arms, lifting her up and perching her atop a stool that had suddenly appeared beside her. She looked up into Anton's face and smiled her thanks. He returned the expression, then rounded the bed to stand next to his wife on Marie's other side.

Anna turned back to look at her friend again. She very studiously avoided glancing down at the white coverlet, however. She feared that, if she did, she would begin to think about what lay underneath, and she was fairly certain that she would not be able to maintain her composure if that happened. So instead, she examined every line of Marie's face, trying to commit it to memory now and forever.

"Do I look that bad?" Marie asked jokingly, in response to Anna's intense gaze.

The younger girl blinked, then smiled and shook her head. "No, Marie. You look wonderful. How do you feel?"

"Not so bad," she replied, lifting her head slightly to look down where Anna dared not. "Whatever Dr. Claussen gave me, it's only sort of a dull ache now. Sort of like stiff muscles from sitting in one place too long, you know?" She let her head drop back onto the pillow and gazed at Anna again. Then, as a mischievous grin came to her face, she said, "Hey, at least this got you out of the castle, hmm?"

Anna was shocked at the jest. "You shouldn't joke about this, Marie! It's not funny."

"I know," came the reply, and the grin faltered. "But I can't stand it anymore." She lowered her voice, even though there was no way that her parents, standing right beside her bed, would not be able to hear. "Everyone has been so serious, and… Well, that only makes it worse, more frightening. I just… I don't want to think about it for a while. That's a big part of the reason why I've been hoping you'd come. You can always make me laugh."

For an instant, the little redhead couldn't think of a thing to say. After all, nothing drives all thought of anything even remotely amusing from one's mind quite like the sudden pressure to be funny. But as Marie's earnest brown eyes continued to hold her own, she understood that wasn't really what was being asked of her. Marie just wanted Anna to be her friend, to be herself. Only she wanted her to be the version of herself that wasn't torn apart inside by this accident and the thought of having to say goodbye to her closest friend. Well, wasn't that exactly what she had committed herself to being this morning? She just hadn't realized how hard it was going to be.

Still, she would find a way. For Marie.

So she thought about all the fun times they had spent together: the hours watching the ships from atop the tower, chasing each other through the halls, climbing the trees in the garden, the sword fighting lessons, Marie's violin performance, dancing around the bonfire on Midsummer's Eve. She let the joy of those moments fill her up inside, and tried not think about the future. The future could wait. What mattered was now, this moment. What mattered was her friend.

A heartfelt smile spread across Anna's features, and that brought Marie's back as well. "You only say that because you find it so very amusing when I fall on my face," Anna quipped.

"Like I said," Marie countered, "you _always_ make me laugh!"

And laugh they both did. Even Marie's parents smiled, Anton chuckling softly as he slipped an arm around his wife's waist.

They spent the rest of the morning in like fashion, chatting happily about nothing that really mattered – except that every word mattered, of course, and they all knew it. Anna and Marie recalled all the little adventures they had shared together. Many of them, Jacqueline and Anton already knew about. Others, Anna discovered much to Marie's chagrin, they did not.

In return, Marie's parents told Anna stories of their daughter's earlier childhood. They had tales from every port city they had visited. A few of the stories even managed to _not _make Marie blush! Of course, the rest of the little company much preferred those that did. Anna particularly enjoyed hearing about all the trouble her friend had gotten into even as a wee baby. The princess had worried (once or twice) that perhaps she might have been a bad influence on Marie. Now, she discovered that the other girl had every bit the rascal long before the two had ever met.

The time passed with smiles and laughter and lighter hearts for all. If only things could have stayed that way, all four would have been more than content. Unfortunately, such times pass all too quickly. It felt like they'd only just gotten seated when the knock came. They all knew the reason even before the door opened to admit Dr. Claussen. "It's time," he said. "We need to prepare Marie for the trip down to the docks."

Marie's parents stood, pushing the chairs they had been occupying back against the wall to make room around the bed. Then Jacqueline leaned over and kissed her daughter on the forehead. "We'll see you outside, honey," she declared. Marie nodded as her mother stepped back to make way for her husband. Anton squeezed his daughter's shoulder briefly, then brushed the hair back off her forehead. He added no words of his own, but gave her a smile full of comfort and encouragement. Marie smiled back.

Then she turned to look at Anna. "You're coming down to the harbor with us, aren't you?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course," Anna assured her. "I wouldn't miss it."

The princess hopped down off the high stool and followed the adults to the door. Just before she left the room, however, she turned to look back at Marie, giving her an encouraging smile and a little wave. Her friend waved back, and then curled her arms tightly across her chest as the doctor and his assistants approached.

Only then did Anna catch a glimpse of what Marie must have been holding down by her side this entire time. It was in her right hand, the side that had been away from Anna. And since she had made a point of not looking much below Marie's shoulders, she had not seen it before. But now, there was no mistaking the flash of orange and sea green that the frightened girl held against her heart.

Anna was glad that the door closed behind her at that moment. Despite her best efforts and all the promises she had made to herself, she could not hide her tears.

• • •

The princess clung to her mother's hand as the two stood with Anton and Jacqueline outside the physician's front door. Two men carried Marie out of the office on a stretcher, with the doctor supervising to ensure that his patient was not jarred any more than could possibly be helped. Between the three of them, they carefully placed the girl in the back of the horse-drawn cart that would serve as her ambulance for the journey down to the docks.

After climbing in back himself to supervise Marie during the ride, Dr. Claussen offered a hand to Jacqueline, who would also accompany her daughter. Anton offered the seat next to the driver to the visiting royalty, but the queen insisted that they would walk. Thus arranged, the small party set off back down the winding road.

Anna and Ellinor had no trouble keeping up, since the driver checked the horses' speed in order to keep the ride as smooth as possible. Besides, the street was considerably more crowded at this time of day with townsfolk going about their business. Yet word of yesterday's tragic accident had spread throughout the populace like only gossip could. So when the cart approached, accompanied by Queen Ellinor and Princess Anna, everyone immediately understood what was happening and moved aside.

As a result, they reached the harbor in good time and without incident. Ellinor had never felt prouder of or more grateful to her people than at that moment.

King Agdar was waiting with the ship's captain at the bottom of the gangway as the cart rolled to a stop. Anton jumped down to the planking and hurried to help his wife down as well. The doctor called to the two sailors who had been tasked with carrying his patient onto the ship and began to give his instructions.

Ellinor, still holding Anna's hand, began to walk over to join her husband. She stopped in mid-stride, however, when they heard Marie call out, "Anna? Where's Anna?"

Glancing up at her mother, Anna quickly hurried over to the cart. Once again, Anton caught her and lifted her up so that she could kneel next to her friend. "I'm here, Marie. I'm here."

"We haven't said goodbye," Marie explained with more than a hint of anxiety audible in her voice. "I... I didn't know if we'd have a chance once we were aboard, so I thought..."

Anna grabbed Marie's left hand and held it against her own chest. Her eyes locked with Marie's. In that look, each girl saw her own feelings reflected back at her. Remembering her silent vow that morning, Anna managed to bring a smile back to her face once again. Even so, it took her another minute before she could speak.

"Thank you, Marie. Thank you for being my friend when I was starting to feel friendless. Thank you for reminding me what being a friend really means. Thank you for all the fun and all the laughter. And for your songs! And for all the things you did to help keep Elsa and me together. I'm not sure you'll ever know how much it's meant to me to be your friend. I... I don't know what I'm going to do once you're gone.

"But don't you worry about that, okay? You just worry about getting better! I expect to see you in Arendelle again someday, and the sooner the better. And I expect you to become a world famous violinist, so I can listen to people talking about how they heard you play. They'll say, 'It was incredible! One of the most beautiful experiences of my life!' And I'll say, 'Of course it was! That was my friend, Marie!' And..."

Anna couldn't keep going. Her throat had closed up, and the tears were filling her eyes and running down her cheeks, and she hated them because they were making everything blurry, and she just wanted to see Marie, because she didn't know when or if she'd ever see her friend again, and she felt like her heart was turning to ice in her chest and was about to shatter into a million tiny shards and...

"Anna!" Marie cried out, and the tears were plain in her voice as well. She felt Marie pull her hand free, only so she could grab the back of Anna's neck and pull her down towards her stretcher. The stricken princess retained just enough presence of mind to refrain from flinging herself down upon her friend, but instead let herself be lowered gently into Marie's waiting embrace.

The two girls held each other, clung to each other, their tears mingling on their cheeks. The rest of the world didn't exist for them in that moment. Each was the other's entire world.

Finally, Marie spoke softly in her friend's ear, her voice thick with emotion. "Anna, you are the kindest person I've ever met. I've never had a more loyal, more generous, more selfless friend than you. Please, don't ever let that change.

"I know how much this hurts, believe me. But please, don't let it break you. Don't let it keep you from making new friends. Your heart has much too much to share. It would hurt me more than those crates ever did if I thought that you might give up on friendship just because of the pain we're both feeling right now. And that means that you don't give up on Elsa, either, okay? She was your first and best friend, and I know – I _know_ that she can be and wants to be again."

She paused as Anna's sobs grew momentarily louder. Marie knew that whatever more she was going to say had to be said now, for her own tears were already threatening to choke off her voice as well. There was so much that she wanted to say, but she settled for what she needed to say. "Anna, I already miss you so much. As soon as we get settled, I will write to you. You had better write back! And I promise, I will return to Arendelle someday. You have my word."

She placed her hands on Anna's shoulders and applied a gentle upward pressure. Understanding the gesture, Anna sat up just enough that the two girls could look each other in the eyes once again.

"_Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrons à nouveau,_" Marie managed to say. And then she found that she could say no more. She pulled Anna back down to her, kissed her once on each cheek, and then let her go.

"What?" Anna asked, confusion joining the sadness on her face. "What does that mean? I don't understand."

Jacqueline reached over the edge of the cart and laid a hand lightly on the princess's shoulder. "It means," she said, in a voice that held tears of its own, "'Until we meet again.'"

Anna stared at Marie for a moment longer. Then she lifted her friend's hand to her lips and kissed it. "Goodbye, Marie," she whispered. "I will never forget you."

Then she turned and scrambled to the edge of the cart. Anton reached out to help her dismount, but she leaped off herself and ran to her parents, burying her face in her mother's skirts.

Dr. Claussen gave his last instructions to the two sailors. Soon, they had Marie's stretcher off the cart and were walking it towards the gangplank. Ellinor dropped down onto her knees and, gripping Anna by the shoulders, turned her gently around. Knowing that her daughter would never forgive herself if she missed this last look at her friend, she wrapped her arms across Anna's chest in an attempt to provide both emotional and physical support.

As the first sailor placed his boot on the ramp, Marie turned her head and found Anna with her eyes. She was clutching the doll to her chest more tightly than ever. And yet she raised one hand in a final wave of farewell. Anna waved back, wiping furiously at her eyes with her other hand to keep them clear of tears.

Neither girl looked away until the sailors reached the deck of the ship and the gunwale blocked Marie from sight. Then Anna spun around and, with a renewed flood of tears, lost herself in her mother's arms.

• • •

King Agdar, Queen Ellinor, and Princess Anna stood upon the edge of the dock as the mighty vessel pulled away, pointed its prow towards the gap in the lighthouse wall, and began its voyage across the North Sea. Agdar even lifted Anna onto his shoulders so that she could watch the ship as long as possible. Even after the last hint of the mainmast had vanished from sight, Anna still did not want to leave. But eventually, each of her parents took one of her hands and began the slow walk back to the castle. Still, the princess kept looking back over her shoulder, not wanting to let go of the last tenuous connection to her dear friend.

They were not the only ones to have followed the ship's departure, however. In the tallest spire of the palace, Elsa held the spyglass up to her eye. Even through it, the vessel had long since disappeared from view. The lenses were not now trained out to sea, however. In fact, the scope was pointed out the opposite window entirely.

Elsa watched as the tiny specks that were her mother and father led Anna back towards the castle. She watched until the outer walls of the castle hid them all from view. Then she collapsed the spyglass and began the hasty retreat back to her room.

Now more than ever, though, she wondered what good was being accomplished by her constant hiding. Supposedly, she was still protecting Anna from her curse. But hadn't the idea been for her to learn to control her powers so that Anna would no longer be in any danger? And hadn't she been able to maintain control now that she was wearing the gloves? Why wasn't that enough?

She slipped into her room and closed the door behind her. Then she walked over to her dresser and opened the drawer where she kept the telescope. Placing it gently inside, she slid the drawer shut again.

That was when it hit her. As she looked down at her gloved hands, Elsa finally answered her own question. The gloves weren't enough because the gloves were not controllingher powers. The gloves were just another form of hiding, pretending that her abilities didn't exist. If she ever wanted to leave this room, if she wanted to be there for Anna again as a big sister should be, then she needed to be able to do more than just conceal her magic.

She needed to master it, so that it would only ever do what she wanted it to do. She needed to become so skilled at wielding it that it would never slip out of her control again. She needed to stop hiding, even from herself.

She needed to do this. _Anna_ needed her to do this.

And so, barely daring to breathe, Elsa of Arendelle began to tug at the fingers of her gloves.


	27. Trial and Error

To Elsa, the first step toward mastering her magic abilities seemed obvious.

When she had been younger and had tried out her powers (nearly always at Anna's urging), all she had ever really done was create piles of snow or sheets of ice. Then the two sisters would play in the snow just like they would have normally done in winter. They packed it into snowballs, rolled it up to make snowmen, or slid down the powdery hills as if they were sledding.

Elsa had never tried to shape the snow into anything more complicated using her talents, because the best part of those times had been sharing them with Anna. That meant sharing everything: the shaping and the sculpting and the play. It felt like they both were a part of the magic that way, and so Elsa had never had any reason or desire to do anything more.

Now, though, that seemed like the clear place to begin. She had decided that she ought to be able to imagine a shape in her mind and then manifest it as snow. Should be easy enough, right?

She had decided to start small. This was only partly due to the natural assumption that smaller would be simpler. It had far more to do with the fact that she didn't want anyone to know what she was attempting just yet. She thought that there might be a chance of her mother understanding what she was doing and why she felt the need to do it. She was not at all sure about her father, however. Therefore, she decided that her experiments needed to stay secret, at least until she had some real progress to show for her efforts.

So she had placed an empty wash basin on her desk. Then she had closed her eyes and formed a picture in her mind of the simplest shape she could think of. This would be her first exercise: creating a spherical snowball using just her magic. How hard could that be? After all, she had done something like this before when playing with her sister, as the first step in creating an indoor snow flurry. Shouldn't be any problem here.

Opening her eyes, she had begun to weave her hands over and around each other above the basin. Blue-white sparks sprang to life at her fingertips, drifted through the air, and coalesced into a spinning mass between her palms. At the center, a glint of bright white had appeared and began to grow steadily larger. The sparkles continued to add to the mass of snow. In only a few seconds, a respectably sized, if slightly lopsided, snowball was revolving slowly in midair.

Smiling with satisfaction, Elsa had cupped her hands together and let the ball drop into them.

It had disintegrated into crystalline powder on impact.

Elsa had frowned. That clearly had not been what she'd had in mind. Allowing the failed attempt to fall into the wash bowl, she had wiped her hands dry in the folds of her skirt and tried again. The results, however, were frustratingly unchanged.

She stared at her hands, confusion writ large on her face. She had done this before, hadn't she? What was she missing? She tried to think back to those times past when she had willingly wielded her powers. It had been so long ago now that it was hard to remember clearly. But as best she could recall, she had always done the same thing: the same hand motions, the same gentle release of power, the same growing ball of snow, the same...

No, not the same. She had never tried to hold one of those snowballs once she had made them. She had always launched them up toward the ceiling where they exploded like frosted fireworks. Apparently, there was some difference to creating snow that was meant to last. Of course, she had done that before too, though. She had made the snow that she and Anna had played with. That hadn't been hard at all. It just took a little flick of her fingers, like so...

A jet of ice blue sparks momentarily connected her hands and the basin. A little mound of snow suddenly materialized therein, and it stayed! Good. Now she just had to figure out how to make that same kind of snow, but in some shape other than "pile". Maybe if she rotated her hands around each other again, but directed the power outward...

She had managed to catch the bowl before it spun off the table, but only just. This time, the sparks had come off her hand in a twisted spiral shape. They'd hit the basin off center, starting it turning. Flakes had begun to form, but with the container now spinning, the snow had collected thickly across one side of the rim. This had thrown the bowl off balance and sent it tottering toward the edge of her desk.

_Well, at least I learned a new way to push with snow_, Elsa thought, trying to put a positive spin on the error. But she could explore that more some other time. Back to the problem at hand. What if she just turned her wrists while focusing the magic?

Trial after trial produced a plethora of different results. Some were completely useless, resulting in little more than a dusting of flakes across her desk. Others had interesting results that she mentally filed away to revisit later. But none produced the nice, solid snowball she wanted.

She was now on her second day of this drill, but she still was not making much progress. She came close once, by using just one hand and sort of curling her fingers while twisting her wrist. When she saw a nice white sphere form atop the smoothed-flat remnants of her previous attempts, she jumped up out of her chair in excitement. But as she did, she severed the flow of magic, and the ball collapsed into a slushy pile.

Well, at least slush was better than the powder of her first attempt. She tried to think of that as progress.

She was finding herself facing another problem, however, that was even more discouraging in its own way. What was she to do with each wash basin full of snow? She'd never really given any thought before to getting rid of her frozen creations after she'd made them. She supposed that the drifts she had created when she and Anna were younger must have just melted on their own (though thinking back on it now, she wondered what the palace cleaning staff must have thought whenever they'd found huge puddles in the middle of windowless rooms).

At least she had an idea where to begin when it came to creating and shaping snow, even if it was clearly going to take some time to work out the finer details. Honestly, making snow and ice was almost too easy. The magic was always there, just waiting. Essentially, she was always holding this strange ability back. Wielding it required little more than just relaxing her grip on it, letting it go. The tricky part was trying to shape the power as it flowed out of her.

Once the magic was out, though, she had no idea how to draw it back in. It was like trying to flex a muscle she had never used and didn't even know she had. How do you even start practicing something like that? For all she knew, it was entirely possible that it was simply beyond her abilities entirely.

Finally, she had been forced to take a pragmatic approach. So now, she carefully carried the full pan over to the gated fireplace and set it down near the edge of the hearth. That should melt it long before her mother or father next came to visit. Hopefully, they wouldn't notice that the basin and the pitcher from which it was normally filled were both brimming with water.

As she tugged her gloves back on, Elsa frowned at the results of her efforts. This was the second time in two days that she had filled the small basin in less than an hour. If that continued to limit her practice sessions, then it looked like she wouldn't be revealing her experiments to anybody for a very long time. Plus, once the warmer spring weather arrived and the fires were no longer burning during the day, she would have to find some other way to melt the snow. Perhaps the sunlight from the window would provide enough heat?

Oh, this wouldn't do at all. Clearly, she needed to come up with a different approach and soon.

For her first efforts, she had to admit that things could have been much worse. While she still hadn't been able to get the magic to do quite what she wanted it to, at least she had kept it in check. She considered that encouraging. And she was learning nuances of control that she'd never bothered to discover before. Nevertheless, her strongest emotion remained one of frustration. She didn't know exactly what she had expected when she'd begun, but she had certainly hoped for more than what she had achieved so far. If this was to be the pace of her progress, she'd be lucky to proclaim mastery of her powers in five years. Unfortunately, her sister needed her right now.

Anna had not come by the day before. Elsa could understand that. She knew how hard it must have been saying goodbye to Marie. If it was anything like what she herself had gone through when she'd first entered this room and closed the door on Anna, then it would have been excruciating. Nevertheless, she hoped her sister would come back again soon.

Anna's visits had never exactly followed any sort of fixed schedule – except on days when it snowed, of course, which nearly always saw her outside Elsa's door first thing in the morning. Still, the most common time for her to stop by seemed to be late in the afternoon or early in the evening, either right before or right after dinner. That way, she was able to tell Elsa about everything that had happened that day. Elsa looked forward to those times so much that she was always a little disappointed when Anna's schedule resulted in her coming by earlier in the day instead. Oh, not when Anna was there, of course. But later, when dinnertime came and went without her sister's voice, it left her feeling like something was missing. She would keep looking about her room, trying to shake the sensation that she'd forgotten something.

Now, with her lessons (both traditional and magical) done for the day, Elsa could only wait and hope that today might see Anna's return.

To try and pass the time, she picked up the book she was currently reading and carried it over to her bed. Propping her pillow against the headboard, she made herself comfortable, turned to the page where she had left off, and attempted to lose herself in the story once again. Those efforts were considerably hampered, however, by the fact that she kept glancing up at her door every few minutes.

• • •

When dinner arrived, there was still no sign of Anna.

Sometimes, her mother would deliver Elsa's meals, especially when they happened to coincide with her lesson times. But as often as not, her food was simply left on a tray just outside her door by one of the staff. This was usually accompanied by a short knock and an announcement along the lines of, "Breakfast, Your Highness."

Fortunately, it wasn't always that monotonous. Whenever she could spare the time, it seemed that Gerda liked to make the deliveries personally. And since she still considered herself to be almost a grandmother to the princesses (or at least a doting aunt), she usually bypassed the formality and tried to add a more personal touch. Such was the case tonight.

"Hello, Elsa. And how are you this evening?" came the familiar voice from out in the hallway. The head of the kitchens knew better than to expect an answer to this question, of course. However, she seemed to feel that good etiquette demanded that she ask it anyway. So without waiting for a reply, she continued. "Oh, I do think you'll like tonight's meal. I've prepared some thinly sliced roast pork au jus along with a lovely butternut squash. The dinner rolls came out splendidly, if I do say so myself – nice and flaky on the outside, soft and chewy inside. And for dessert, there's krumkake filled with berries and whipped cream. I know that's one of you girls' favorites."

Elsa had thought that Gerda's voice sounded a little off tonight. It seemed almost unnaturally chipper. Now, as the flow of her words broke off abruptly, the princess was certain of it. Something was troubling the poor woman, even if she was trying her best to conceal it. And considering the last words she had said before her pretense slipped, Elsa thought she had a pretty good idea what that something was.

Gerda, recovering quickly, continued. "It's fixing to be a cold one tonight, so I also brought you a glass of nice hot cider to wash it all down. I hope it's all to your liking. I'll just leave it out here, as usual, and someone will be by to collect it all later after you've finished."

Elsa heard the quiet rattle of dishes and utensils as the tray was placed on the floor. This was then followed by a muffled grunt. "Ooh, definitely gonna be a cold one. I can already feel it in my bones. Well, stoke the fire, stay warm, and sleep well, my dear. G'night." There was the sound of retreating footfalls and then silence.

Hopping off the bed, Elsa crossed to the door and opened it a crack. It seemed silly, even to herself, but the years of hiding had made it a habit that she found tough to break. Having confirmed that the corridor was empty, she pulled the door open wide enough to let her gather up the tray. Bringing it back inside and bumping the door closed with her foot, she carried her dinner over to her desk, sat down, and began to eat.

The food was excellent, as always. Gerda had been right; the rolls were simply perfect. The cider delivered a very delightful heat to her belly that quickly spread throughout the rest of her body. By the time she had finished the last sweet morsel of krumkake, she was feeling so pleasantly satisfied and warmly drowsy that she was mightily tempted to crawl straight into bed.

Then she remembered what she had spent all afternoon waiting for, and any idea of turning in early vanished in an instant. She did not want to run the risk of missing that.

So once again, she peeked out the door, then slid her tray into the hall. Not trusting her ability to stay awake if she returned to her previous reading position, she instead retreated to her desk, pulled out her sketch pad, and began idly flipping through some of her old drawings. She realized that she hadn't looked at some of them in months. It was actually amazing to realize how far she had progressed during that time. Many of the oldest drawings were almost embarrassing to look at now.

Still, she found it heartening. If her drawing skills could progress like this, then why not her magic? It might seem like slow going at the moment. But would she look back in a few months' time and find herself marveling at how far she had come? It certainly was an encouraging notion. Either way, she knew she still had plenty of opportunities for improvement in both disciplines. Practice makes perfect, and other such platitudes.

Her train of thought was suddenly disrupted by a sharp, clear sound from outside her door. It sounded like a piece of silverware pinging off of glass. That was rather odd. Her dishes were rarely picked up this quickly. Since the staff never knew how long she might take to eat, they usually waited at least an hour before they came to collect her tray. Sometimes, she was sure they would even hold off until morning and only collect it when they brought her breakfast.

The sound rang again. And again. No, this wasn't the accidental clink of dinnerware shifting back and forth. It was too regular. It was more like... like...

Like someone lost in distracted thought, absentmindedly swinging a spoon back and forth across the rim of a glass.

Anna?!

Elsa scampered across the room. She had to be sure. Dropping to her hands and knees, she peeked through the gap beneath the door. It was hard to make out much in the dim light from the fire, but... Yes, that was definitely a flash of green! That was enough for Elsa. She knew it in her heart now. Her sister was back!

She pushed herself up into a seated position, her back against the door and a contented smile on her face. Honestly, she hadn't really expected Anna to return to her old routine this quickly. She had hoped, of course. But she had also prepared herself to wait much longer to hear that friendly voice again.

Elsa closed her eyes, leaned her head back, and waited for Anna to speak.

The seconds ticked by. Then a minute. Then two. Elsa's eyes opened. Something wasn't right. The only sound was the tiny_ ping-ping _of the spoon against the rim of the glass. If not for that, she could have been convinced that her sister had simply left.

Well, she had been through an emotional ordeal these last few days, after all. It wasn't surprising that she would need a few minutes to collect her thoughts. After all, hadn't Elsa been ready just minutes ago to endure days without her sister? Just be patient. Give Anna time. She let her eyes slide shut again and settled in for the wait.

_Ping-ping. Ping-ping. Ping-ping._

Elsa drew a deep breath, held it, let it out. Just stay calm. She'll talk when she's ready. Another minute passed.

_Ping-ping. Ping-ping. Ping-ping._

Deep breath in. Hold it. Let it out. Elsa tried not to count the seconds, or the metronomic pings. The fourth minute ticked by. Or was it the fifth?

_Ping-ping. Ping-ping. Ping-ping._

In-out. In-out. In-out. No, that wasn't right. Elsa felt her forehead crease. She shifted her weight, trying to find a comfortable position despite the fact that every single muscle seemed to have suddenly decided to ache or cramp. She had lost all sense of how long she'd been waiting.

_Ping-ping. Ping-ping. Ping-ping._

"Anna!"

The pinging stopped. The silence that blossomed in its place was in no way better.

Elsa's hands had flown to her mouth the instant that one word had burst forth, and her eyes had opened wide at the sound of her own voice. She hadn't meant to speak. She absolutely had not meant to shout. And yet, it had happened. Now, her sister's name seemed to hang in the air around her, echoing again and again inside her mind. It would not fade. But moments later, other words joined it.

"_Why don't you talk to Anna?"_

"_Anna longs for the tiniest bit of contact."_

"_Anna's going to need more than just her mother and me to get through this. I have the feeling that she's going to need her big sister too."_

Elsa swallowed hard, past the lump in her throat and the fear in her chest. She closed her eyes again, trying to ignore the pounding of her heart against her ribcage, trying to remind herself of the pain that her sister had just been through. No, was still going through.

"Anna," she said again, her voice quiet and a little shaky. "Are you alright?"

There was no response. Not a word, not a sound.

"I'm... I'm so sorry. About Marie. I know how much you must miss her. I know how badly it hurts. How your heart feels like it's been torn to pieces and you don't know how it can ever possibly be put back together again. Do you have that hollow feeling in your chest? The one that seems so empty, you could end up falling into it forever and never find your way out again?"

Still no answer. Elsa grimaced, berating herself. What was she doing? Did she honestly think it would help Anna to remind her of exactly how miserable she was feeling? She needed to find a different approach, and quickly.

"I'm sure Marie will be just fine, Anna. From what Mother told me, Dr. Velpeau is considered one of the best surgeons in Europe. Injuries like this are one of his specialties. There's no one better qualified to tend to Marie. I mean, if he can't help her, then..." Then what? Exactly how did she intend to end that sentence? Elsa felt like beating her head against the door. "Well, I'm sure he'll be able to help her," she finished pathetically. How was it that every single thing she said only made matters worse?

Think, Elsa! This is your sister. Okay, so maybe you've barely spoken to her for more than two years, but you still know her. You know Anna. What is she thinking? What is she feeling? What does she need to hear?

And then it hit her. This was Anna. This was the girl who always, without fail, worried about everyone else before she ever thought about herself. The one who had so often pretended she was happy just so her parents wouldn't have to worry about her. This was her sister, who somehow seemed to feel that she was personally responsible for protecting everybody but herself.

"Oh, no. Anna, please tell me that you aren't... You're not blaming yourself for Marie's accident, are you?"

Finally, there was a sound. It took Elsa a moment to identify it. It had been short and yet had somehow managed to feel unfinished. Then, she realized what it was: the beginnings of a whimper that had been choked off and swallowed.

"Anna, no!" she exclaimed. "You can't think like that! It wasn't your fault. How could it possibly have been your fault? You were here, in the castle. You were nowhere near Marie when it happened! You were.. you were... Oh!" Elsa felt the final understanding dawn at last. "You feel guilty because you weren't there with her!"

There was no attempt made now to hold back the sobs that she could hear quite plainly from the other side of the door. "Oh, Anna. There wasn't anything you could have done. There wasn't anything anyone could have done. It was an accident – just a terrible, awful accident. It wasn't anybody's fault. Even if you had been there, there's no reason to think anything would have turned out any differently."

"It would have been different!" Even through her sister's tears, the words came out sharp and bitterly clear. "I would have been there for her! I should have been there for her! She was my friend. When she was lying there under that crate, maybe I could at least have held her hand. I could have done something to comfort her, to let her know she wasn't alone."

"She wasn't alone, Anna. Her mother was there, remember? And Marie was unconscious anyway. She wouldn't have known..."

"Then I would have known! Instead of fooling around in the gardens, I would have known. Instead of finding out from a messenger who-knows-how-much later, I would have known. Instead of being forever locked up in this awful-" Anna's voice cut off with a sharp intake of breath. Even the sound of her crying ceased. Elsa caught herself holding her own breath as well.

She heard the jangling clatter of a spoon dropping into the bottom of a glass. Then came scuffling noises and the too-loud sound of running footsteps.

"Anna!" she cried out. Leaping to her feet, she grabbed the door handle and pulled. The door didn't budge. She fumbled with the lock, finally undoing the latch and flinging the door open wide.

The hallway was empty except for the silver tray and its abandoned contents. The spoon was still gently rocking back and forth on the rim of the glass. Anna was nowhere to be seen.

Elsa placed one foot across the threshold, ready to set off in pursuit. Then she suddenly froze in place.

What good would it do? Assuming she actually caught up to her sister, what would she do then? What would she say? Her every attempt at comforting Anna this night had failed spectacularly. If she tried again, it seemed almost certain that she would only make matters even worse. She couldn't stand the thought of that. Hadn't she'd already hurt Anna more than enough for one lifetime?

Her shoulders slumped. Her hands curled into tight, angry fists. Feeling like the worst sister in the world, Elsa withdrew into her room.

The door closed behind her.

* * *

**A/N: Hang in there just a little longer, everyone. The healing begins soon.**


	28. A Portrait of Hope

Elsa stared at her textbook, but she wasn't reading a single word. She heard her mother talking, but she wasn't listening. In fact, she hadn't been doing much of either thing all morning. Her thoughts refused to move away from the events of the previous night. She couldn't decide which had been worse: the silence before she had spoken or Anna's terrible tears afterward. Somehow, she felt guilty about both.

Part of her realized that this was ridiculous. Hadn't she told Anna how pointless it was to blame herself for something she could not possibly control? But her sister's last words had stung deeply. "Instead of being forever locked up in this awful..." Well, who's fault was it that the castle gates had been barred, turning Anna into a virtual prisoner in her own home? If Anna should be angry at anyone for not being with Marie that day...

"Elsa? Elsa!" Her mother's sharp tone finally drew her attention away from pointless self-recriminations. She jerked a little in her seat and looked up at the queen, almost surprised to still find her there.

"Where have you been, Elsa?" Ellinor asked with the faintest hint of a smile. "I've just spend the last several minutes delivering a rather fascinating discourse on the potential trading opportunities with the purple-furred reindeer herds of Northern Italy. It was a shame you missed it."

The princess would have blushed, except for the fact that her mind had already halfway returned to thoughts of her sister and she had once again barely registered a thing her mother had said. "Mm hmm. Furry purple Italians. Got it."

Now the queen's face shifted to a look of mild concern. She reached across the desk and placed her hand on top of her daughter's. Elsa turned to look at it, but it was more of a reflex response than anything else. "Sweetheart, what's wrong? Is something bothering you?"

The girl's eyes rose to meet her mother's, and finally they found focus there. A tiny shiver ran up Elsa's spine before she spoke.

"Anna came to visit me yesterday after dinner. Only... she wouldn't say anything."

Ellinor closed her eyes for one brief moment. With a sigh, she nodded understanding. But as she opened her mouth to reply, Elsa continued.

"So I... I did what you asked me to do. I tried to talk to her."

The queen's mouth shut abruptly with what she thought must surely have been an audible snap.

"But then it all went so wrong! I wanted to let her know that I understood how she was feeling. I wanted to reassure her that Marie would be alright, that everything would be alright. And that none of it was her fault. But then she just started crying. She told me how guilty she felt because she hadn't been there with Marie when she had her accident, and how she hated being stuck in the castle all the time and then... and then she ran off. I wanted to stop her, but by the time I got the door open..."

"Just a minute, Elsa," Ellinor interrupted, her gaze startling in its intensity. "Anna told you these things? She said them to you?"

The princess looked at her mother, feeling terribly wrong-footed and confused by the interruption. "Well, not at first. For a long time, she just sat outside the door not saying anything. But yes, just before she ran away, she talked about how awful it made her feel to have to find out about the accident from a messenger and how... What's wrong, Mother?"

The queen's eyes were glistening and her hand, curled into a fist, was covering her mouth. It took her a few seconds to compose herself before she was finally able to respond.

"Elsa, Anna hasn't spoken to anyone for the last two days. Not one word since she said goodbye to Marie. Heaven knows your father and I have both tried to get through to her. We've done everything we could think of. We given her sympathy, we tried to comfort her, we tried to take her mind off of things. All we got back was silence. We knew she was hurting, and we were willing to give her time if that's what she really needed. But it's been so unlike Anna that we were really beginning to get scared.

"Elsa, you said that it all went wrong last night. I think you're very much mistaken. You managed to reach your sister when nobody else could. Something you said was absolutely, completely, and in every way _right_!"

Ellinor stood and came around the desk, where she practically lifted Elsa out of her chair and into her arms. "I'm so glad that Anna found someone she can talk to. And I'm so glad you were were able to be there for her. Thank you, Elsa."

Elsa's felt her eyes growing wide, but it was not from mere surprise. It was panic. It was fear.

"Mother," she squeaked, "I can't... I don't... What am I supposed to do? I have no idea what to say to Anna! I tried, but... She ran away in tears! How can that possibly be good? I don't think I can do this. It shouldn't be me. I'm not... I'm just..."

The queen pulled back and held her daughter (who now found herself standing on her chair) at arm's length. "You're her sister, Elsa. I had one when I was growing up too, remember. So I know that there are things that sisters can say to each other that they would never dream of saying to their parents. And that's okay. That's what sisters are for. Well, one of many things, actually." She smiled, both at the daughter in front of her and at the remembered face of her own sister when they were children.

"But what do I say to her, Mother? We haven't spoken for so long, and I just... Please, tell me what I should say!"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Ellinor replied sympathetically.,"but I don't know either. If I knew the magic words, then maybe I could have helped Anna earlier and you wouldn't be in this position now. Then again, even that might not have made a difference. Honestly, I'm not sure the words are what really mattered.

"I'm sure you can feel that there's a different kind of bond between you and Anna than there is between you and me. Both are love, of course, but love comes in so many different shades and shapes. It may be as simple as that. It may not have anything to do with the right words or the wrong ones. Nobody expects you to have the perfect thing to say, because none of us ever does. Sometimes, just making the attempt is enough. Maybe all your sister really needs is... well, her sister."

None of this had done anything to calm Elsa's fears, however, and it showed on her face. Her forehead was creased and her lower lip was trembling ever so slightly. Her eyes were pleading for something, anything to help her cope with this sudden and unexpected responsibility.

Cupping Elsa's cheek in the palm of her hand, her mother smiled tenderly. "Alright, how about this: why don't you start by telling me, as best as you can remember, everything you and Anna said to each other last night, okay? Then we'll see. Maybe we can work out something together."

That seemed to be enough, at least for the moment. Elsa's face relaxed and she nodded eagerly at the proffered assistance. _Well, we all could use a little help_, Ellinor reminded herself. Anna needed Elsa's, Elsa needed her mother's. In times past and times to come, the queen knew she'd find help in the hands of her daughters and in the arms of her husband.

That was, after all, what it meant to be a family.

• • •

Anna lay on the long seat in the portrait room, staring up at the high ceiling. She had come here immediately after breakfast, because she felt totally unable to deal with anything or anyone else. Her first instinct had been to retreat to her bedroom, but she thought it all too likely that her mother or father or perhaps Gerda would look for her there. And right now, she really did not want to be found. Yet paradoxically, she also did not want to be alone.

It had been that way ever since Marie had left. If she was with her parents, or anyone else for that matter, she wanted nothing more than to escape into solitude. When she did, however, she felt so miserably lonely that she would have welcomed any company whatsoever. No matter where she went or what she did, nothing felt right. Two days of this had left her emotionally exhausted.

It also didn't help that everyone insisted on telling her how they knew what she was feeling, what she was going through. How could they know? Had any of them ever had to watch one of their best friends carried out of their lives because they had been so badly hurt that they couldn't even walk? Had any of them faced the prospect of returning to a life with no friend they could talk to or have fun with ever again? No, of course not. So none of them could possibly know what she was feeling!

Except...

The way Elsa had described this pain – the vast emptiness inside her that threatened to pull her down and drown her. She knew. Somehow, her sister knew exactly what Anna was feeling. It had been the strangest thing, to hear her own grief described so perfectly.

Then there was the way Elsa had completely understood the guilt that had been gnawing away at her. Even as she had railed against her sister's attempts at comfort and consolation, some part of Anna had begun to feel the truth in those words. It hadn't kept her from crying herself to sleep that night. But when she had awoken this morning, the oppressive weight on her heart hadn't seemed quite so unbearable.

It didn't make sense. Well, not all of it, at any rate. She could certainly understand how Elsa might know about such terrible feelings of loneliness and loss. But the guilt? What could her sister have to feel guilty about? Anna couldn't think of a thing, but how else could Elsa have recognized it so quickly and completely in her sister? Neither of her parents had worked that out.

Yet another secret that she would probably never know, Anna supposed. She shook her head dejectedly

As she did so, her gaze fell upon the painting that hung just above her on the wall. She cocked her head slightly to one side, to get a better look at it. It depicted Joan of Arc on horseback, wearing a medieval suit of armor and brandishing a sword above her head.

Anna had always considered Joan to be something of a personal hero, ever since Prof. Engelstad had told her the story of the martyred maiden. After all, she had dedicated her young life to protecting the country that she loved so dearly. And she had refused to let either her station or her womanhood define who she was. Anna had always liked to think that, if the need ever arose, she would be every bit as willing to put her life on the line for her kingdom and those she loved.

Today, however, her connection to Joan felt more personal and more potent than ever before. Today, Marie was traveling back home to France, the land for which the Maid of Orleans had given everything. Two of the most powerful figures in her life, outside of her own family, had both been birthed in that same nation.

"What is it like?" she asked of the painted figure. "France, I mean. I'm sure it must be beautiful. And the people must be so kind and strong and brave. My friend told me a little about it, even though her family left there when she was still very young. I even went looking and managed to find a book about France in the library, because I wanted to know more about where Marie came from. Nobody thinks I do all that much reading, you know. Well, I certainly don't read as much as Elsa. Who does? But I don't mind reading when the subject is interesting.

"And it sounds incredible! I'd love to visit the Champs-Élysées or the Cathedral of Notre-Dame. Oh, and the gardens at Versailles! And all the other beautiful sites around Paris! Then I want to tour the countryside too, maybe visit some of the wonderful vineyards. Of course, I'd also have to travel to some of the great port cities, like Calais or Marseille. I'm sure Marie would enjoy seeing those too. She always loved watching the boats with me, probably because she grew up around them all her life. Her father is a very skilled dock master, you know."

For some reason, speaking about Marie in this way and in this place didn't cause quite the same stab of grief that just thinking about her had done for the last several days. Oddly enough, though, the difference didn't quite register consciously in Anna's mind. She simply kept talking, and the absence of that pain just felt normal again.

"I've wanted to travel for so long," she continued. "I love Arendelle, of course, and I'll always call it home. But there's so much world out there, with so many amazing people and places. France seems like it would be a wonderful place to start. Maybe I could even go visit where you were born and where Marie was born. I'd really like that." She paused, and now her throat did tighten a little. "It would make me feel so much closer to you both."

Some day, Anna promised herself. Some day I _will_ go and see for myself the country that could produce two such amazing people as Joan and Marie.

• • •

Elsa bent low over her desk, her hand and eyes darting back and forth over her sketchbook. Never before had she felt such a need for one of her drawings to come out so perfectly. And yet, this was almost certainly the hardest thing she'd ever tried to capture on paper. All the little details and proportions had to be just right or it simply wouldn't work at all. But it had to work!

The idea had come to her after she'd finished her lessons late that morning. She'd been revisiting her old drawings again when she had come upon this one abandoned sketch. The moment she saw it, she knew that she had to complete it. It had been one of her earliest attempts, however, and that showed through quite clearly in the quality of the original work. She had spent an hour trying to figure out how to correct the problems with that draft before finally deciding that the best approach – the only approach, really – would be to simply start from scratch, using the original just for reference.

So she had begun the painstaking process of combining that first attempt with the images in her mind, struggling to get the likeness she wanted. It was a somewhat infuriating task, because her mind kept trying to go faster than her hand could manage. She could see in her head exactly the picture that she wanted, but it was proving extremely difficult to translate that into just the right strokes on the page.

She was only using the hardest of pencils at the moment, in order to produce the lightest of lines. She found herself making too many subtle tweaks and adjustments to risk anything heavier just yet. That could come later, once she was satisfied that the shapes were what they needed to be. But at this rate, it seemed likely that she had several days worth of work ahead of her at least. She only hoped that the vision in her head wouldn't slip away before she could capture enough of it on paper.

She had spent all afternoon absorbed in this project, so consumed by her work that she hadn't even thought about practicing her magic today. She might well have worked straight through dinner except that it was already becoming difficult to see things clearly in the fading light as the sun dipped low on the horizon. Only that caused her to finally set down her pencil and sit up, wincing at the stiffness in her back while she tried to work out the cramped muscles in her hand and shoulder. Now that she finally registered the various aches, she had to grudgingly admit that perhaps it was time to take a break for the day.

Besides, it was almost time for the evening meal. And that also meant that Anna just might be back soon too. Or she might not. Elsa still couldn't entirely believe her mother's assurances that her words of the previous evening had actually helped her sister more than they'd hurt. Even if they had, she remained so very nervous at the idea of trying to talk to Anna again. She still had no idea what she would say if her sister's return brought with it that same horrible silence. The closest thing she had to a plan was to follow her mother's example from months ago, and just try to keep talking. Maybe the sound of her voice really would mean more than the words themselves. She would have to hope so, at any rate.

Either way, just thinking about it left her feeling both excited and scared… and a little bit queasy.

_Knock._

Elsa sighed. Well, hopefully her stomach would settle down enough to allow her to eat at least some of her dinner. She got up from her chair and was halfway to the door when…

_Knock knock knock._

_Knock. Knock._

For a moment, Elsa didn't move. Her brain seemed to be taking an inordinately long time to process what she had just heard, as if it needed to slow down to adjust to the unexpectedly heavy, plodding cadence of what was normally such a brisk and bright rhythm. Still, there was no mistaking it for what it was: Anna's signature pattern upon her door.

Dashing across the remaining distance, she pressed herself against the wood, listening acutely for any other sound. She thought she could just make out the faint rustle of fabric as her sister shifted awkwardly outside. When no words seemed to be forthcoming, however, Elsa swallowed once, and opened her mouth to speak..

"Elsa?"

Even in that one word, she could hear her sister's strained discomfort. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. "I'm here, Anna."

In the silence that followed, Elsa desperately tried to think what she should say next. She wanted to help salve her sister's wounds, but she couldn't bear the thought of possibly driving her away again. One sentence after the next came to her mind, but none felt right. She was just about ready to blurt out whatever thought next popped into her head when Anna's next words finally came.

"I just wanted to let you know that everything you said to me yesterday… Well, it really meant a lot. I think, more than anybody else, you really do understand how this feels. Somehow, knowing that makes a difference. It makes me feel a little less alone, you know? And I'm sorry I ran off the way I did, when you were only trying to help. It just… I mean, I…" She sighed. "I don't know. Maybe you can understand that too."

"I do, Anna," she said just loudly enough to be heard through the door. _Believe me, I do._

There was another pause, though not so long this time. "I am feeling a little better today. At least I think I am. But it still hurts so much." That much was already perfectly clear by the pain in Anna's voice. "And the waiting isn't helping. Marie promised she'd write, but it'll be weeks before any letter can get here. In the meantime, I have no idea what's going on. There are so many things that could go wrong while they're at sea, and I keep imagining all the worst ones." The sound of impending tears was beginning to blur her words.

"I know," Elsa commiserated. "It's terrible and it's unfair and nobody should have to go through something like this. But you don't have to go through it alone, do you understand? You're not alone. Mother and father want to help, if you'll let them. So will Gerda and Kai and... well, everybody!

"But there's only so much they can do if you won't talk to them, let them know what you're feeling. You're right, maybe they don't understand what you're going through, but they want to! You just need to help them help you. They're all right there for you, Anna. And... and so am I."

Anna sniffled once. When she spoke again, the tears seemed to have receded a little. Elsa thought she could almost hear a hint of a smile at last.

"It's so good to hear your voice again, Elsa."

Elsa felt herself stiffen. What could she say in response to that? Once again, she felt completely thrown for a loss. Should she apologize for being silent for so long? Or should she promise that it wouldn't happen again? The timing just felt totally wrong for the first option. And she still didn't trust her own courage enough yet to make that second promise when she didn't know how long she might truly be able to keep it.

Several seconds passed in silent deliberation before she finally replied with the only meaningful answer she could think of. Really, when it came right down to it, it was the only answer that she possibly could give.

"I love you too, Anna."


	29. The Touch of Things Now Gone

**A/N: Every now and then, I've Googled for the title of this little story of mine, just out of curiosity, to see if anybody might be talking about it outside of the FanFiction community. I'd never encountered any hits though... until just the other day.**

**I was coming off a particularly craptacular morning, so when I found a recommendation of _Echoes_ in the comments of a YouTube video about Frozen fanfics... well, let's just say it made me feel a whole heckuva lot better about life. So my thanks to 'syndddd'! This chapter's for you. Hope you like it.**

* * *

The King of Arendelle paused in his pacing when he heard the knock on his study door. He thought he knew who it must be, and his guess was confirmed when the handle began to turn without waiting for any acknowledgment on his part. The door opened.

"Agdar? You wanted to see me?"

The queen entered and sized up her husband with a glance. The look of mild curiosity on her face shifted quickly to one of concern. "What is it? What's wrong?"

He gestured for her to close the door. She did so, without taking her eyes from her partner's face. Then she walked toward him, stopping just a few feet away, and considered him more closely. He was visibly agitated, which was unusual for him. Moreover, he seemed unable to maintain eye contact with her for more than a second or two. This only served to deepen her disquiet.

"Agdar?"

"I'm afraid I made a mistake," he finally confessed, "with Anna."

Ellinor felt her maternal instincts immediately start to kick in, ready to lash out at any threat to her daughters. But she quickly tamped them back down. The man who stood before her now was not the same one who had so brazenly pulled Anna out of Elsa's room last summer. There was no such hubris in him today. He was contrite, nervous, perhaps even a little... scared? Whatever he might have done, he clearly now regretted. There was no reason to make him feel even worse, certainly not before she knew the details.

"Go on," she encouraged.

Agdar chanced a quick glance at her again. Then, resuming his anxious pacing, he began to explain.

"Well, you know that Anna's been improving these past few days. Ever since she opened up and started talking to us again, it seems like her depression has slowly been receding. Of course, she still isn't back to being her usual self yet, but that's only to be expected, isn't it?

"Even so, I wanted to try and do something to help cheer her up a little. So I was waiting outside her classroom this afternoon when she finished her lessons with Yori. And when she came out in the hallway, I...

"Well, she always seem to enjoy them so much before! I just assumed she still would now, but... Oh, Ellinor. She just got this look on her face. I could see her eyes beginning to water, even though she turned away to try and hide it. Then she said, 'Thank you, Father, but I don't quite feel like it today.' And before I could say another word, she ran off down the passage and was gone."

The queen stood silently for a moment, feeling like the most important piece of the puzzle was still missing, and waiting to see whether or not Agdar intended to supply it. When he only continued his pacing, punctuated periodically with sharp shakes of his head, she finally decided that he would once again require a little gentle persuasion.

"Agdar, what was it you tried to get Anna to do?"

Finally, his pacing stopped. At the same time, his shoulders slumped and his chin fell to his chest. In a voice that was full of self-reproach, he answered. "I just thought she might like another sword lesson."

"Oh," Ellinor replied, and any potential enmity she might have been preparing for her husband instantly evaporated. She crossed what little distance still separated them, then gripped his arm gently but firmly.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she assured him. "It was a very thoughtful gesture, and there was no way to know how Anna would respond without making the offer. It's just unfortunate that she took it the way she did."

"I never thought..." he stammered. "It never occurred to me that... I guess, to me, those lessons were always something that Anna and I shared. I never considered that she might see them as something that she and Marie shared. If I had, maybe I could have handled things differently. I thought it would cheer her up. I never meant to upset her again."

"I know you didn't," Ellinor said. "Of course, you didn't. And I don't blame you. In your position, I would probably have done the same thing."

Finally, Agdar looked at her, and this time he did not turn away. "You know I'm not good at these things, Ellinor," he said. "I never have been. In fact, I'm so bad that I sometimes wonder how you ever managed to understand just how deeply I felt about you when we were courting."

"Fortunately, I'm very good at 'these things,'" she replied with a playful smile. "And besides, you're being far too hard on yourself. Maybe you do have problems putting your feelings into words sometimes, but you let them show in other ways that mean at least as much. It's part of your charm, and part of why I love you so very much." She reached up and kissed him tenderly. That at last brought the ghost of smile to his face, even if it did fade quickly.

"So what do I do now?" he asked. "Should I apologize to Anna?"

The queen pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Mm, maybe," she said at length, "but I wouldn't just yet. I don't think this is as bad as you perhaps fear it might be. Something tells me that we should just give Anna a little time. If she still seems upset tomorrow, then we can have a talk with her."

Agdar nodded gratefully, more than eager to follow his wife's advice on such matters. His shoulders even straightened a little, and he rested a hand lovingly atop the one that Ellinor still had upon his arm. Even so, the look on his face remained troubled. His gaze slid away from his wife once again, to focus on some indistinct point in the middle distance.

"Something else is still bothering you," Ellinor observed.

The king shrugged. "It's foolish, really. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

Scowling slightly, she replied, "Agdar, few things make me more concerned with you than when you tell me something isn't my concern. When we were married, we vowed we would share everything. You'll let me help govern the kingdom, but you won't tell me why you're so obviously upset?"

A self-deprecating smile briefly brightened her husband's face. "When it comes right down to it, dear, Arendelle mostly runs itself. Its people are generally good, honest folk for the most part. They know how to do what they do, and they do it well. They don't need you or me telling them to go about their daily business.

"It's a simple fact that's become impossible to ignore these last few years, ever since we closed the gates. Life outside the castle walls has continued on with hardly a hiccup. Aside from the odd dispute now and then, and the need to negotiate with foreign envoys from time to time, there isn't all that much for me to do. In fact, I probably do more than I should sometimes, just to feel like I'm not completely unnecessary."

"Agdar, that's not fair and you know it!" Ellinor attempted to gainsay him.

"Oh, it's fair enough, but I don't really mind it either. Looking back, I just regret that it took me so long to come to this realization. I spent so many years trying to follow my father's example, but I'm pretty sure this was something he never understood. And even if he had, I'm not sure he would have been able to make the adjustment. More's the pity.

"I've come to consider it a sign that we're doing something right. It means the kingdom is able to simply enjoy its current stability and prosperity. We aren't finding ourselves constantly jumping from one crisis to the next. Those would be the times when the people would really look to their leaders. So I'm more than willing to feel a little bit extraneous if it's only because things are running so smoothly."

"Then... what's troubling you?" she asked, now genuinely curious.

"Well," he said as the smile slowly faded from his face, "once it became clear to me that the kingdom ran best with a light hand on the reins, I suddenly found myself with more free time than I'd ever known before. I just didn't know what to do with myself. It was incredibly disconcerting.

"Then I started giving Anna and Marie their lessons, and... Well, it couldn't have been more ideal. I'd finally found something she and I could share, something we both enjoyed. We were connecting again like we hadn't done since she was little. I looked forward to those times as much as the girls did. Probably more. They filled a need we both had, and they made me feel more alive than I had in years.

"But now..." His voice trailed off, the unsaid words abundantly clear. Nevertheless, after a moment's silence, he attempted to shrug it all off once again. With a bravado that sounded only slightly false, he declared, "Well, it doesn't matter. What matters right now is Anna and what she needs."

The queen reached up and placed a hand on the back of his head. Tilting it forward, she rested her forehead against his. "Oh Agdar, my love," she murmured. "I'm sorry. We've been so caught up with the girls that I never thought... You know that one of the things that Anna needs right now is her father, don't you? Maybe, given a little time, she'll decide she's ready for those lessons again, once the memory of Marie isn't quite so painful. We can hope. But either way, that doesn't mean you two shouldn't still remain close.

"I know you've worked so hard to reach out to her again. Don't stop now. Surely, we can find something else that you two can share. If we put our heads together, I know we'll come up with something. And in the meantime, just keep being her father. Be there for her, talk to her, hold her when she needs it. Just like you've been doing. Time will take care of the rest."

Agdar lifted his head and pressed his lips against his wife's brow. Then he moved lower, kissing one eyelid as she let them slide closed. He kissed her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose. Soon enough, his mouth found hers. She returned his ardor with her own, measure for measure.

No more words passed between them for a considerable period of time. Sometimes, after all, there are simply far better ways to communicate.

• • •

Elsa examined the drawing with a critical eye. As expected, it had taken her days to get it to this point. She'd spent nearly every spare minute on it, especially with the initial line work, trying to make sure every shape was as accurate as she could get it. Only after nearly three days diligent work with the harder sketch pencils had she dared to finally go in and begin to painstakingly darken the fine traceries.

Once she had completed the outlines, she spent a good bit of time debating with herself how to go about shading the drawing, or even if she should make the attempt. It would be so easy to ruin all her careful work if she made a mistake while applying the light and shadows. Perhaps it would be best to just keep it a simple line drawing and not take that chance.

In the end, however, she had decided that the risk would be worth it. So she had proceeded with great caution and opted for a relatively light touch. She would not be introducing bold or dark shadows, but rather adding just enough here and there to help give shape and depth to the image.

Now, she considered the result of her labors. Ever unsparing in her critiques of her own work, her eye was drawn to the places where she had struggled the most. Some of them still didn't look exactly right, and it annoyed her. But she'd spent so much time on those areas already that she knew she was unlikely to get them any better. Any such endeavor would likely only make matters worse. Therefore, she forced herself to pull back and look at the picture as a whole.

She couldn't help but smile. Whatever flaws it might still have, she knew that she'd done the best job that she was capable of, and the final outcome was more than she could have hoped for. It was, she thought, the best work she'd done yet, and she felt quite proud of it.

Now, she just had to hope that she wasn't the only one to share that sentiment.

Still resisting the urge to pick up another pencil and attempt further ill-advised improvements, she pushed back her chair and got to her feet. Even though she finally felt comfortable declaring her work to be finished, she still had to face what might be the hardest part of the entire exercise: the waiting. But at least she had other things to do that would help pass the time

She carefully carried the drawing to her bed and laid it atop the covers. Then she returned to her desk and packed her pencils back into their case. Once those were safely secured within one of the desk drawers, she hurried across the room and returned with her empty washbasin.

Just because she'd thrown herself into her art the last few days didn't mean she had completely abandoned her attempts to control her magic. As she'd lain in bed at night, waiting for sleep to come, she had given considerable thought to how best to overcome the obstacles she'd encountered during her first attempts. It wasn't until last night, however, she'd finally had an idea that she was now eager to put to the test. And if it worked, it would actually solve two problems at once.

It had occurred to her that perhaps even the seemingly trivial task she had set for herself could be simplified even further. Instead of attempting to create the snow in the exact form she desired, why not create the snow first and then use her powers to shape it? That would also mean that she could reuse the same snow repeatedly while she attempted to mold it, at least until it melted too far to be usable. The end result would be that she could to spend far more time practicing before she finally ran out of room in her basin.

Elsa tugged off her gloves and set them down on the desk. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she conjured a small pile of snow in the shallow bowl. Drawing in a deep breath, she began to weave her hands through the air before her, while at the same time directing just the tiniest trickle of her power out towards the little mound. In her head, she watched her hands scooping up the snow, rolling it, packing it. She tried to push those ideas out along the thin thread of magic, hoping to make the snow understand what she wanted it to do.

Nothing happened.

Slowly, she relaxed her grip on the magic by another small fraction while continuing to picture the snowball forming in her mind. Her hands still flowed through their aerial dance as her eyes remained fixed on the contents of the basin. Still, she saw nothing. And yet, it could just be her imagination, but she thought she could sense… something. It felt almost like a vibration running back along that thread of power – a sense of eagerness and willingness, like a dog straining at its leash.

Just a little more…

The top of the mound rose an inch into the air, its bottom surface a near mirror image of its upper dome. She forced herself not to gasp, to maintain her mental grip. With the slightest nudge of thought, she set the floating snow spinning slowly. Now she focused on her invisible hands, pressing inward on the snow from all directions, compressing it, changing it from a loose pile of flakes into a single solid mass.

She couldn't tell if it was working, either by sight or by feel, though she thought that some change ought to be noticeable. Furrowing her brow with concentration, she attempted to direct her power around the circumference of the ball, to encircle it with a web of magical force. Then she pulled, slowly tightening the net. She stared intently, eager to spot the slightest change. She was so eager, in fact, that she wasn't sure she could trust what her eyes were telling her. Was there a shifting in the interplay of light across its glistening white surface? Had the small sphere actually become just the littlest bit smaller?

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

Elsa's eyes flew to the door. The snowball dropped back into the basin, rolled down the side of the leftover mound, then split in half when it impacted the side of the bowl. And yet, the two halves remained unmistakable hemispheres. The princess barely registered this fact, however, when her sister's voice floated in from the hall.

"Elsa? I… I just wanted to talk for a minute. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but… I just need someone to listen, and you've always been good at that."

Anna's big sister crossed the room quickly. Smartly arranging her skirt about her legs, she sat down in front of the door. But before she could tell Anna to continue, the younger girl was already speaking again.

"I know I've already thanked you for getting me to talk to Mama and Papa again. You were so right, of course. With their help, I'm almost starting to feel normal again. Sometimes, I can actually go an entire hour without thinking about Marie. Well, almost. But then, there are other times when…"

Her voice broke off with a sniff before she continued. "Like today, after my lessons? Papa was waiting for me, and he had brought the practice swords. I know he meant well and was just trying to cheer me up. But all I could picture was Marie and me sparring out in the courtyard. And then I couldn't help but think that we might never be able to do that again. That even if she came back, there's the chance that she might not be able to walk again, and…

"Suddenly, it all came crashing back down on me and I… I just ran. I didn't know what else to do. I just knew I had to try to get away. I don't know if I really thought that it could be as simple as hiding from the sight of those swords, but it wasn't. No matter how hard I ran, the fear just kept following me. I couldn't get away.

"And then suddenly, I found myself here. I didn't mean to. I never thought about where I was going, only what I was running from. But I looked up and… and there was your door." There followed a chuckle that might have been a sob, and then silence.

"I miss her so much, Elsa."

Elsa knew instantly that there would never be a better time. "Wait just a second, Anna," she blurted as she scrambled to her feet. Dashing back across the room, she skidded to a halt at the foot of her bed and picked up the piece of paper that she had placed there for safe keeping. Then she hurried back to the door as quickly as she could without risking the precious drawing cradled in her hands.

"I started this months ago. It was one of the first drawings I tried after you gave me your birthday present, so it wasn't very good. _I_ wasn't very good yet. But I've spent the last several days completely redoing it from scratch, and… Well, I just hope you like it." Ever so gently, she slipped one edge underneath the door.

She stared down at the white sheet, waiting. It took a few seconds, but it finally slid out of sight into the hall beyond. Dropping to her knees, Elsa pressed her ear to the door, not wanting to miss her sister's reaction.

She needn't have bothered. The gasp was quite plainly audible.

"Oh, Elsa! It's… How? How did you draw this? You never even saw Marie, except out your window!"

Elsa smiled, and silently thanked her mother once again for the gift of the spyglass. Her father too, for all those lessons in the courtyard below her window. "It's a big sister thing," she teased coyly. "Do you like it?"

She heard the sound of Anna sliding down the door and landing heavily on the floor outside. "It's amazing," she breathed. "You're amazing! I can't believe you made this! I… Thank you, Elsa. Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!"

A tiny flash of movement drew Elsa's eyes downward. Her eyes grew round and wide, and she very nearly jumped to her feet.

There, poking out from beneath the door, were the very tips of Anna's little fingers.

What did it mean? She didn't know if her sister had done it on purpose or if her hand had just accidentally turned that way. What should she do? Perhaps it would be best if she just ignored it. Yes, that would definitely be safest. But what if Anna was actually trying to reach out to her? She was in such a fragile place right now. What would it do to her if Elsa didn't respond? She still remembered the feeling she'd had when Anna had run from her room in tears not that long ago. She didn't think she could take that again.

So, trying to keep her hand from trembling, Elsa pressed it flat against the floor. Hesitantly, she slid it forward, spreading her fingers apart to match her sister's. They slowly disappeared behind the white wood until, at last, she felt their tips brush the spaces between Anna's. Her sister's hand twitched at the contact, but neither pulled away.

"Elsa?" came the quietly surprised voice from the other side of the door. Then she felt Anna's fingers draw together, squeezing hers between them. She gave a gentle squeeze of her own in return.

"Elsa, your hands are so cold!"

A moment's confusion gave way to a sudden realization that struck her like a hammer blow. She had left her gloves behind while she'd been practicing with the snow. Her bare skin was touching Anna's! She turned to look back toward her desk, suddenly desperate for the security of that fine fabric. There was no protection, nothing to keep her powers in check. Nothing, nothing at all! And…

And there was no ice. No frost. Just the warmth of her sister's fingers interleaved with her own. Her hands hadn't felt anything like it for so long, they were almost tingling with the sensation.

"I think maybe you need to put down the pencils for a while and spend some time by the fire," Anna quipped, and her voice sounded so much like her normal cheerful self that Elsa nearly forgot what had brought her sister to her door in the first place.

"Yeah, I guess I probably should," she replied. Her voice was hushed with amazement, as if afraid that speaking too loudly might wake the terrifying beast sleeping inside her.

But neither girl moved. Neither one spoke. One stared at the picture she held in her lap, at the smiling face whose absence she had been feeling so keenly for the past week. The other stared in wonder at her unclothed hand, finally allowing herself to revel in the simple touch of her sister's fingers.

For once, neither minded the silence.


	30. Unexpected Companions

Anna still did not do patience well. At all.

Normally, this manifested itself as a manic energy that simply could not be contained, no matter the number of exasperated sighs that issued from the adults around her. Normally, it just saw Anna bouncing off the walls – sometimes quite literally if she tried to turn a corner at top speed. Normally, it would eventually lead to the ever so polite suggestion that it was such a nice day out that she must surely prefer to go outside and play in the gardens, because who doesn't enjoy frolicking in the rain!

Normally, though, Anna had a pretty good idea what she was waiting for, or when it was coming, or at least that it definitely _was _coming.

The first days after Marie's departure had been absolutely terrible. The anguish of having her friend torn away from her so suddenly had gnawed at her day and night. Even thinking back on it now made her stomach clench painfully.

By the beginning of the second week, the pain of that heartache was still there, but the sharp edges had been mercifully worn down. That measure of relief came in no small part from the love and support that she had received from her mother and father, from the entire palace staff, and even from Elsa. Especially from Elsa.

She felt a little guilty admitting that to herself. After all, her parents had made every effort to spend as much time with her as they could. They would listen when she wanted to talk, talk when she needed to hear a comforting voice, or simply hold her quietly during those times when her most desperate need was just for a healing hug.

Naturally, it was different with Elsa. Her sister's support came in smaller ways. She would listen, of course. Elsa had been a good listener even when they'd been little, at least whenever Anna was the one talking. And now Elsa was talking again too, even if she still didn't say all that much. But when she did speak, it always felt like she'd heard every single word that Anna had said, along with many that she had not. More to the point, she had heard them and understood them completely. So even though her words were few (or perhaps because they remained so rare), every one felt like a precious gift.

Besides, when you find yourself having to say goodbye to a friend, nothing else fills the hole that's left behind quite like another friend. So now Anna felt like her heart, though not yet wholly healed, was at least healing.

Nevertheless, early in the third week, it became clear to everyone that her anxiety level had begun to grow once again. She still had not heard from Marie, and the lack of news was doing dreadful things to her nerves.

The ship upon which her friend had departed had not, in the end, been part of the royal navy. Rather, it had been a large merchant vessel. Dr. Claussen had felt that the gentler ride afforded by the bigger ship would ultimately be of more benefit than the speed of a smaller one. The ship's captain had not objected to the royal request, for they'd already been due to sail across the North Sea in a few days anyway. With the extra manpower that the king had provided, they'd been able to complete preparations early, and so would be able to make the detour without significant impacts to their schedule.

Unfortunately, that also meant that they would not immediately be returning to Arendelle. The result was that Anna did not know if Marie and her family had even arrived safely yet. As the days slipped by, the uncertainty began to take its toll.

She was full of the same restless energy that always built up inside her whenever she was forced to wait. But all the things she normally would have done to release it suddenly held no interest to her. She was so worried and scared that her old childhood exuberances now seemed... well, childish. Without an outlet, all that energy bottled up within her began to twist her insides into knots. She was finding it difficult to sleep at night, and so ended up listless and inattentive during the day. While she didn't regress to the point of shutting her parents out again, she spent less and less time talking, and more and more time just pressed up against them, trying to find some comfort in their touch.

Even so, she again found herself wandering off alone more often. She mostly roamed the rooms and passageways of the palace. Often, the steady rhythm of her walking would be just enough to clear her mind and allow her to think of nothing at all. That never lasted nearly long enough, though. And for some reason, whenever her head was once again full of all the dreadful things that she really didn't want to consider, she found that her feet would lead her back again to the portrait gallery.

She knew that it might be a little bit crazy, but there was still something about unburdening herself to the painted people in the pictures that seemed to loosen the knot that had taken up permanent residence in her stomach of late. They would "listen" to her with neither judgment nor pity. She could confess her darkest fears here, and they wouldn't be made worse by returned looks of shock or sadness or grief. She was able to work through some of her feelings without having them reflected back at her, magnified by some strange hall-of-mirrors effect.

So that was where her father found her that morning, lying once again beneath the painting of Joan of Arc. She did not, however, hear the door open or notice him slip inside.

"I sometimes wish I could have gone with her, you know?" she continued, unaware that other ears were now listening. "Then at least I'd know exactly where she was and what she was doing and how she was feeling. Even though I'd still be just as useless and helpless, I wonder if I'd feel it as much if I at least knew what was happening and that Marie was okay.

"Of course, then I think about Mama and Papa and Elsa, and I know that leaving them behind would be so much worse than even saying goodbye to Marie has been. I mean sure, at least I would know that _they _were safe at home. But it hurts so much being separated from Elsa already, and that's only by the thickness of a door. I just can't imagine the entire sea splitting me from my family. I know I said that I've always wanted to travel, but... I don't know if I could do it alone. Not like that.

"Maybe someday, when I'm older, things will be different. Maybe I won't be so afraid to say goodbye. Then I'll climb aboard the fastest boat I can find and head straight to France, and I'll find Marie and she'll be so surprised. And we'll run to each other (because she'll be all better by then, of course) and we'll hug and laugh, and maybe cry a little. We'll remember all the fun times we had, and then we'll head off on some brand new adventures. When we're done, she can come back with me to Arendelle, and everybody will be waiting to greet us when we come off the ship – Mama and Papa and Elsa and..."

Her voice faltered as her imagination encountered an obstacle for which it was not quite prepared. The look of hopeful excitement that had been growing on her face began to fade. Determinedly, she tried to rally, "Of course, Elsa will be better by then too. And she and Marie and I will all be best friends, and we'll do everything together, and we'll... we'll..." But the momentum died once again, and she stumbled to a halt. Then, she let out a shaky sigh.

"Joan, I think I'm starting to understand what grown-ups really mean when they tell you that something is complicated."

Through all of this, the king remained standing just inside the door. Stumbling into the middle of this most unusual conversation was making him feel like an intruder in his own home. Anna had never shared these thoughts with him before. If she had confided them to her mother, Ellinor had made no mention of it.

While it pained him that there were things his daughter felt she couldn't share with her parents, he also knew that he couldn't exactly blame her. After all, what kind of an example had he set for her these past few years? Besides, no one ever shared every secret that they held in their heart. If Anna felt better keeping these to herself, so be it. She need never know that he had heard.

He reopened the door behind him. Then, he turned the door handle again, only with considerable more noise this time. "Anna, there you are! I've been looking all over for you." This was true enough.

The princess leaped to her feet at the unexpected sound of her father's voice. "Papa! What are you doing here?"

"As I said, looking for you." He smiled kindly. "If you aren't busy, I have something I'd like to show you." He held his hand out toward Anna in invitation.

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly where she stood. "It's up to you," he assured her. "You don't have to come if you don't want to. Or we could do it some other day, if you'd prefer. But I think... I hope you'll like this."

She stared at him for a moment longer. Then at last, she walked across the room and slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it once, then held open the doors and led her out into the hall.

They walked through the palace without saying much. Anna, lost in her own thoughts, kept her eyes fixed on the floor a few feet ahead of her. She didn't see Agdar glancing down at her time and again as he continued to contemplate what he'd just heard, and also tried to assess whether or not his daughter would ultimately prove receptive to what he had in mind.

Shortly, the king led her out of the palace and across the courtyard. Even as they crossed the flagstones, Anna didn't pay much attention to where they were going. Only when her father finally brought them to a halt did she look up and take in her surroundings.

"You wanted to show me the stables?"

"Not exactly," he replied. Undoing the catch on the top half of the stable door before them, he swung it open. Despite herself, Anna craned her neck to try to see what was inside the stall. A moment later, her father had lifted her up and supported her so she could sit on the top edge of the lower door. He smiled when he saw a flicker of light stirring in her eyes.

"He's beautiful!" she gasped as she looked at the young Norwegian Fjord Horse that stood inside, munching contentedly on his feed. He was nearly all white, except for his shins and muzzle which were a charcoal gray, and the black stripe that ran down the center of his mane (a distinctive trait of the breed).

At the sound of her voice, the horse turned its head to look at Anna. When their eyes met, an unbidden smile bent her lips. Then, the muscular animal maneuvered itself around and walked over to her. It sniffed her curiously, the wind from its nostrils tossing her bangs about her forehead. Without really thinking about it, her hand came up and began to stroke the roached mane. The horse seemed to approve, as it nickered contentedly.

"Oh, I almost forgot," said her father's voice from just behind her. One steadying hand disappeared from her waist for a moment, then reappeared beside her a second later, now holding several sugar cubes. With a broad grin firmly in place, Anna happily snatched one up and placed it in her outstretched hand. A moment later, she giggled as the horse's lips brushed across her palm and scooped the treat into his mouth.

"He just arrived yesterday," Agdar explained. "I would have brought you down here then, but I was told it would be better to at least give him a day to get used to his new surroundings first."

"He is beautiful," Anna said again, unable to come up with any better word to describe the thoroughbred steed. As she fed him another sugar cube, she glanced up at her father. "But we have other horses too. Why bring me down here just to see this one?"

"Oh, I don't know," the king shrugged. "I guess I just thought that, now that you were going to have a horse of your own, you might like to meet him face to face."

"Oh," Anna replied as she scratched underneath the horse's chin. Despite his best efforts, Agdar couldn't keep a straight face while he waited the extra second or two for his words to sink in. When Anna's head suddenly whipped back around to stare up at him, her mouth agape, he abandoned all restraint and began to laugh. "You mean...? I...? I mean, he's...?"

"Yes, princess," the king replied, still chuckling as he gave his daughter a one-armed squeeze. "He's yours."

"But... but I don't even know how to ride!"

"Hmm, yes. I can see how that could be a problem." Her father nodded and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well then, I guess I'll simply have to teach you, won't I?"

Agdar nearly fell over backward as Anna suddenly twisted on her perch and threw her arms around his neck. The squeal of joy that came out of her throat – and went directly into his ear – was well worth any temporary hearing loss it might have caused. "Oh Papa, do you mean it?"

"Of course I do," he assured her. "After all, I hand-picked this one especially for you. And it doesn't make much sense to have a horse unless you plan to ride it, now does it?"

Anna released her embrace, carefully settling herself back into position on the stall door. The horse was sniffing again, curious to find any additional treats she might still be hiding. Slipping him another cube and watching him munch it happily, she said to her father, "I don't want to ride him sidesaddle, though. Well, I guess I can learn if I have to, but not _just _sidesaddle. I'd like to ride astride him, like... like Joan!"

The king, remembering the conversation he had accidentally intruded upon earlier, nodded his agreement. "I think we can arrange that."

As she returned to rubbing the stallion's short mane, Anna realized that she was still missing one critical piece of information. "What's his name?"

"He's called Adelen,"

"Adelen. Ooh, I like that. Hello, Adelen." The horse flicked its ears and snorted once. "When can we start?"

"Let's give it a few days," the king replied. "It will be good for the two of you to have some time to get to know each other first. Besides, I still need to have him fitted with a new saddle and bridle. The breeder already completed all his ground training and some light riding too. He seems to be a good tempered fellow, so I don't think he'll be much trouble for you while you're learning. We'll start slowly, just around the castle grounds at first, and then see where to go from there. How does that sound?"

Anna merely nodded, her face suffused with a happy glow as she now scratched Adelen's forehead, much to his apparent pleasure. "Thank you, Papa," she said dreamily. Agdar almost thought he could see his daughter's imagination reflected in the sparkling of her eyes.

• • •

Queen Ellinor cried out as she felt herself grabbed from behind and lifted bodily off the floor. As she began to spin in a sweeping circle, however, she heard the sound of her husband's laughter ringing in her ears. When at last he set her on her feet once again, she turned to look up at his beaming face.

"Well, someone's in a good mood," she noted unnecessarily.

"Of course I'm in a good mood," Agdar positively crowed, before leaning forward and giving her a celebratory kiss. "It worked! It worked so well, I could hardly believe it. She hasn't been this happy in weeks. We can only hope it lasts and no new bad news comes along to spoil it. But it worked!"

By this point, Ellinor had a pretty good idea exactly what her husband was talking about. Still, as her spirits rose to meet his, she simply couldn't help but express her growing joy through a little gentle teasing. After all, Agdar tended to be too serious far too often, so she considered it part of her job to needle him every now and then, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"Agdar, you're developing the bad habit of leaving out the most important details of all your stories. If you keep up at this rate, you'll be in danger of becoming so cryptic that people will start to mistake you for a prophet!"

The king simply stared at her for a moment as the witticism flew right over his head and out the door behind him. "The horse!" he exclaimed. "You remember Anna's new horse, don't you?"

Shaking her head and trying not to laugh, the queen responded, "I certainly do, dear. I take it, then, that Anna approved of your selection?"

Agdar proudly straightened to his full height. "Well, let's just say that I think our little girl has fallen in love for the first time."

Now, she did allow her light and mellifluous laughter to spill out. "See, Agdar? You said you weren't any good at this sort of thing, but this was all your idea. I knew you could do it." She kissed his cheek, not wanting to compete with the ecstatic grin on his lips.

"I really can't stay long," he said, the words nearly tripping over each other in their haste to leave his mouth. "I ought to be there to oversee things when the stablemaster takes the horse's measurements for the new tack. I just want to make sure nothing goes wrong. Anna's so eager to get started, and she doesn't need another disappointment right now."

Ellinor nodded. "Good idea. Come see me when you're done, though. I want to hear all about Anna's reaction, so you'd better not forget a single detail."

"Oh, I don't think that's likely to happen," he promised. He started to leave, but stopped just as he reached the door and turned back to face his wife once again. "By the way," he said, "I wanted to ask you something. Did you know that Anna has begun talking to herself?"

"No," the queen replied, her voice indicating a singular lack of concern. "But she has been talking to Joan quite a bit lately."

The king opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of the idea. Finding that he also wasn't sure if it would be more appropriate to nod or shake his head, he just stood there for a moment. Ellinor smiled back at him innocently.

Finally, he turned and resumed his march back to the stables. There were many things to be said for horses, he decided. And rapidly climbing that particular list today was the fact that, though they could often surprise you, they rarely did it with words.


	31. Journeys of Body and Mind

Elsa was beginning to arrive at a seemingly inescapable conclusion. Snow is hard.

That was to say that it's hard to control and to shape. Snow isn't just one thing. It's thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of separate tiny ice crystals. The way each one behaves with respect to its neighbors depends upon so many different factors: the size of the crystals, the amount of moisture present, the temperature, the pressure. Change any one of those and everything starts to act differently. Even worse, they could all vary within the same construct.

There were just so many variables to keep track of, but they all made a critical difference. She'd learned that quickly enough as part of the very first exercise she'd set for herself.

She was now finally able to produce, with reasonable consistency, snowballs of various sizes. The trick, of course, was to begin with the right kind of snow. Fine dry powder was useless. You needed thick, wet snow that would cling together and hold its shape. It was obvious enough, once she'd realized it. She had simply never before given much thought to the type of snow she was making until she'd begun these experiments. It had never been that important when she and Anna were just playing in the Great Hall.

Now that she was determined to completely understand and control her powers, however, such details were critical. So she was beginning to explore what it took to manipulate all these attributes in order to produce exactly the effect she desired. It was slow, tedious, and rather frustrating work. Some of the variations were so subtle that she couldn't even figure out what she'd done differently from one attempt to the next, despite obvious differences in the results.

Still, she was making progress. For one thing, she'd begun to understand that, while the hand gestures she made to control her powers were useful, they didn't seem to have intrinsic meaning of their own. She had found herself getting the same results with completely different motions, and sometimes even getting different results from the exact same movements.

She'd begun to think of her hands as simply tools to help her translate the ideas in her mind into physical reality. In a way, they were sort of like her pencils. You could get very similar lines by pressing heavily with a hard pencil or gently with a softer one. For that matter, you could choose to use pen and ink, or watercolors, or oil paints. They were all just different media through which an artist could express their vision in a form that they could share with the rest of the world.

Likewise, her hand gestures seemed to do more to shape her thoughts than to shape her powers. When she wanted a ball, the movement that came most naturally to mind was to roll her two hands over and about each other in midair, carving out a roughly spherical space. Motion and thought reinforced one another. And yet she had, with practice, found that she could also produce a ball by just twirling a single hand in the air. That in itself had come as quite the revelation.

Still, Elsa couldn't escape the nagging feeling that she was still missing something obvious. If her mind was indeed the primary shaper of her magic, then why did it remain so difficult to create anything more than the simplest forms out of her snow? No matter how clearly she pictured what she wanted in her head, no matter how much time she spent considering all the little physical details that would be needed for it to hold together, it remained such a struggle to actually maintain it once she began to channel her power. Almost always, once she let the flow stop, the snow would collapse.

The answer remained maddeningly just out of her reach. She couldn't help but feel that, if she could only grasp it, it would cause everything to suddenly make sense.

In the meantime, she continued her exercises. Today, she was taking a break from her struggles to mold and shape the snow. Instead, she was trying something different, on the theory that inspiration can come from unexpected places. Or perhaps she was just playing around in an attempt to alleviate some of the frustration.

Either way, she was striving to create and manipulate two snowballs at once. She'd managed the creation easily enough, through the simple strategy of assigning one hand to each of the balls. She'd even been able to get them both to circle around the rim of the basin at the same time.

But when she began trying to make one of the balls "bounce" up and down in the middle of the bowl while the other continued to circle, things fell apart rather quickly. It was, she thought, rather like trying to pat your head and rub your stomach at the same time. No, it was harder than that, because once you'd gotten both hands going, you could usually continue the patting and rubbing without having to think about either one too much. This was more like trying to whistle one song while listening to another. The minute you focused on one tune, you'd either lose the other or they'd both start becoming one and the same.

The result was that the balls kept colliding with each other. Either the one on the rim would suddenly shoot up in the air or else the bouncing ball would slowly begin to spiral outward. Then she would gather the scattered snow, split it and shape it into two distinct balls, and start all over again. She had the idea that, if she could get the motions to the point where they were as mindlessly reflexive as patting and rubbing, so that she didn't have to think about either so much, then maybe she'd be able to master this challenge at last.

It was a nice theory. But even should it prove true, it would still mean that she'd have to practice every possible motion until it reached that same level of automatic behavior. Only then could she hope to truly control multiple items at once. For the moment, she tried not to dwell on that particular implication too very much.

"Elsa! Elsa!"

Anna's shouts grew louder as her pounding footsteps approached up the hallway. Letting the snowballs drop, Elsa looked up just in time for both sounds from the corridor to come to an abrupt halt. Apparently underestimating her speed, her sister ran smack into the closed door with a painful sounding thud.

"Ow! Oh, ouch. Sorry."

Elsa nearly laughed, because it sounded for all the world like Anna was apologizing to the door for any accidental pain and suffering she might have caused it. That would be so like her, too. But Anna was clearly far too excited to let the inconvenience of such a minor collision distract her from her original purpose, however.

"Elsa, it's here! It's here! Marie's letter finally arrived!"

"What does it say?" the older girl asked as she hurried over to the door. Anna's excitement was so infectious, and the anticipation for this letter had been running so high for so long, that Elsa's curiosity completely overrode any caution that might normally have led her to just wait a few seconds more for Anna's inevitable recital.

"I don't know. I haven't read it yet. Mama and Papa were busy, so I ran straight up here as soon as I got it."

Elsa felt like her heart was suddenly filling her chest. Anna could have chosen to just read the letter for the first time by herself and nobody would have thought anything of it. But she hadn't. Even if it was only out of a desire to share the news with somebody, Elsa was grateful that her sister still felt she could share something like this with her – grateful, proud, and (as was often the case) a little bit surprised.

"Well, go on. I'm listening." She made herself comfortable on her side of the door and waited.

She heard the crisp sounds of paper being unfolded. Then, after a brief pause, there followed a nervous little laugh. "Sorry, my hands are shaking."

"Do... do you want me to read it for you?"

"No. No, I'm okay, thanks." Elsa felt the door shift a little as Anna adjusted her position on the other side. Then, she began to read:

• • •

_Dearest Anna,_

_I'm starting this letter on the evening of our second day out from Arendelle, so I'm sorry if it ends up a little disjointed. I decided to begin now mostly for two reasons. First, I know you'll be waiting impatiently for it, so I want to have it ready to send as soon as I can after we've settled in. And second, I am so incredibly bored._

_I know you'll probably find that hard to believe, considering all the times you dreamed about your own adventures at sea. Unfortunately, Dr. Claussen made it clear how important it is that my bandages not be allowed to get wet. That means that I'm not even allowed to sit out on deck._

_The captain graciously insisted that I make the journey on the bunk in his private quarters, so I don't feel like I should complain. Even with my parents keeping me company, though, the scenery starts to get old after a while when you can't even get out of bed. Writing this letter at least gives me something to do. So if it comes across a little like diary, at least you'll know why._

_Father tells me that we've been holding a good speed so far, between six and seven knots. It helps that we're running fairly light on this leg of the journey and that we've had strong winds at our back. Hopefully, that will continue tomorrow._

–––

_Day three. I should have known better. The winds all but died around midday, and our progress went with them. The captain had been hoping we would arrive in Calais late tomorrow, but that was assuming that the favorable winds would continue Oh, well. These things happen out at sea, and no amount of worrying will fill the sails any sooner._

_There was one upside to the lack of activity aboard ship this afternoon, however. Even though I never said anything to them yesterday, my parents nevertheless went and spoke with the captain. Then he and a couple of his deck hands, having little else to do at the moment, managed to jury rig a makeshift seat for me by the cabin's aft window._

_It's nothing fancy, but it's comfortable enough, and it keeps my legs solidly supported. I couldn't stop thanking the men, and Mother and Father too. Now I can at least look out at the sea during the day. Watching the waves is incredibly soothing, and the sunlight also helps brighten my mood._

_I don't mind that I can only see where we've been. After all, the waters look pretty much the same in all directions, especially on these currently quiet seas. Besides, when I look out behind us, it means that I'm looking back toward you. I like that thought a lot._

–––

_Day four. The winds finally picked up again in the middle of the night. Assuming they continue to hold, we should reach port around sunrise tomorrow. Otherwise, there isn't much new to tell. I wish I could practice my violin, but it would just be too awkward given the position in which I'm forced to sit. Mother and I have been singing together though, so that's the next best thing._

–––

_Day five. We have arrived in France! The ship put into port at Calais about an hour after sunup. As much as I love the sea, it's good to be back on land again._

_Father bought tickets for a south-bound coach that leaves this afternoon. It's about 300 kilometers from here to Paris, and he hopes we can average about a quarter of that each day. Obviously, we won't do that well today, though. The coach does stop for meals along the way, and to switch to fresh horses. Some passengers choose to ride on through the night, but Father opted for one that stays overnight at various towns along the way. I think he's afraid to push it too hard because of my legs, and for that, I am most grateful._

_I only hope we don't have to travel on too many rough roads. It promises to be uncomfortable enough as it is without that constant jostling._

–––

_Day six was our first full day on the road. That first afternoon on the day before went well enough. We traveled more or less along the coast, staying overnight in Boulogne. The roads were mercifully well maintained, which was a blessing._

_I have most of one bench to myself, sitting sideways to support my legs. Mother and Father take turns sitting with me, usually trading places when we stop for fresh horses or for a bite to eat. It isn't always the most comfortable arrangement, but I'm managing so far._

_We're spending tonight in Abbeville, a lovely town on the banks of the Somme. My father actually met an old friend at the inn where we're staying. René claims he's gotten too old to always be shipping out to sea, like he used to in his younger days. Now he captains a boat that hauls cargo up and down the river. Father says it seems to agree with him._

–––

_Day seven, and I'm not sure where we are. My legs are aching terribly. We encountered some tortuously rough roads this afternoon after we passed through Amiens. I can't write much tonight. All I can think about is sleep. Hopefully tomorrow will be better._

–––

_Day eight. We've crossed the Oise River around sunset, and when the coach stopped for dinner, we decided to just stay here for the night. Again, I'm afraid I don't know exactly where "here" is, but you'll be happy to know that's only because it was too dark to tell for sure. There are so many small communes dotting this part of the country._

_Fortunately, my legs are much improved today. Though the roads were still a little rough this morning, they got better before too very long. A good night's sleep also did wonders_

_We should be in Paris tomorrow. My mother sent two letters ahead before we left Calais. One was to Dr. Velpeau's hospital, explaining our situation and that we would be arriving in a few days. The second was to her cousin who lives on the outskirts of the city. We hope to stay with her for a little while until we can make more permanent arrangements._

–––

_Paris, at last! My mother's cousin and her husband were more than happy to have us stay, which is so very fortunate. After nine days of travel, we're all three quite exhausted. I am so stiff and sore right now. It's late, and I'm looking forward to soft cushions, a home cooked meal, and a comfortable bed. If all goes well, I will arrange to have this letter on its way to you tomorrow._

–––

_Anna, I know I promised that I would send this letter as soon as we got settled, but that doesn't begin to describe the state of things today. Everything has been so hectic. Mother and Father left right after breakfast to visit the hospital where Dr. Velpeau works and try to schedule a time when he can see me. Dr. Claussen provided them with papers describing my injuries and what treatments he was able to perform._

_King Agdar was also gracious enough to provide a letter of his own, offering whatever assistance the Kingdom of Arendelle could provide. Father was reluctant to take it at first, but my mother wouldn't let pride stand in the way of anything that might help._

_Cousin Odette has been sitting with me while her husband is off at work. We've never met before, but she has a way of putting you completely at ease. She simply started talking, and before long, it felt like I was completely a part of her family. She told me all about Paris, then I told her about the various places I've been. And if I spent a little (okay, considerably) more time talking about Arendelle and about you, Anna, I don't feel the slightest bit guilty._

_I hope you'll be willing to forgive an extra day's delay. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a little quieter._

–––

_Odette has agreed to drop this letter in the post this morning, so I guess that means I had better say whatever I haven't said already. I'll be seeing Dr. Velpeau tomorrow, but I don't want to delay sending this any longer. I will write again later when we know more. Just don't expect future letters to be this long!_

_Mother is staying with me today. Father has been considering the possibility of following René's example and finding work with one of the shipping companies that ply the Seine. With his experience, he seems to think that he shouldn't have too hard a time getting hired. He's decided to take some time this morning and begin to make inquiries about possible openings._

_I miss you, Anna. I thought about you constantly during the trip. Writing this letter really helped me feel like we were still connected. It was almost enough to let me forget why I had to leave, at least for a short time. But with the appointment looming tomorrow, I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm scared. I can't pretend to ignore it any more. Now I have to face whatever may come. Oh Anna, I wish you were here. I could really use a laugh right now._

_Please write back to me when you can. Send it care of Odette at this address. Even if we've managed to find a place of our own by then, she'll see that it gets delivered to us. Give our deepest thanks to your parents, and give my love to Elsa. Don't forget what I told you when we said goodbye at the docks. Remember that friendships can survive any kind of separation, as long as the head and the heart refuse to let go._

_I hope you'll think of me from time to time, Anna. I know I'll be thinking of you. Until we meet again, I remain..._

_Your friend, now and always,_

_Marie_

• • •

Anna fell silent. For a minute, she just stared at her friend's signature at the bottom of the last page. She was trying to recall if she'd ever actually seen Marie's handwriting before today. It was such a strange thing to think about at a moment like this.

"Anna?" Elsa's concerned voice came through the door behind her. She shook herself, only then realizing how long she must have been sitting there lost in her own thoughts.

"I'm alright," she replied, though she couldn't help a small sniffle that suggested her statement might be just the slightest of exaggerations. "It's just... I could almost hear her voice when I was reading it, you know? I could almost let myself believe that she was here, right next to me."

_Just like you, Elsa,_ she thought. _So close, and yet still out of reach._

"Well, at least you know that she made it safely," her sister offered. "It doesn't sound like they had too many problems, either. You were worried about all the terrible things that could happen to her along the way, but nothing did. So that's a good sign, isn't it? Hopefully that fair fortune will continue and the doctor will have good news as well."

"Yeah," Anna responded. Now that her mind had had a few minutes to more fully digest Marie's words, Anna could feel some of her earlier excitement beginning to reassert itself. "By now, she should have met with him and everything. I do hope it went well."

Suddenly, a thought rocked her. "Oh no, I really need to get busy and write my letter back to her! I've been so worried these past few weeks that I haven't even started yet. I know it sounds silly, but I was afraid I might jinx something if I began writing before I heard from her. Now that I have, though, I'd better hurry! I don't have any long trip to write about like she did, but it still feels like so much has happened since she left. I hope I don't forget any of it."

Anna scrambled to her feet. "I'm sorry to run off so quickly, Elsa, but..."

"It's okay," Elsa laughed lightly, and Anna immediately regretted leaving all the more. Her sister's laughter had been so rare these last few years, and the sound of it now made Anna's heart flutter. "Go! Write to Marie. Be sure to let her know that I'm thinking of her too, and send my best wishes."

"I will! And I'll come back and talk again soon, I promise!" She started to turn away down the hall, only to hesitate. Then, she quickly spun around and planted a quiet kiss squarely in the middle of the door. Elsa would never ever know that she'd done it. But Anna knew. For now, that was enough.

Then she took off down the passageway and hurried back to her room. Once inside, she gathered up a pencil, several sheets of paper, and a nice solid book to serve as a portable desk. Hopping up onto the cushioned bench beneath the window, she spared a glance out at the gardens as she tried to think what she should write.

She somehow had failed to inherit the family gift for words. Father was always an eloquent speaker. Mother and Elsa both read voraciously, could recite poetry so beautifully, and had even been known to make up verses of their own on the spur of the moment. Anna, meanwhile, had merely developed a tendency to wander off into the verbal underbrush whenever she began talking, often not knowing what she was saying herself until she heard the words coming out of her own mouth.

She knew that if she asked, her mother would be more than happy to help her write this letter, but she didn't want to do that. This was her friend, so these should be her words, however much of a muddled mess they might be. Besides, it wasn't like Marie hadn't gotten used to Anna's conversational "style," if you could call it that. She would understand. In fact, it might almost be better this way.

So where should she begin? Quite a lot really had happened in such a short time. There was Adelen, of course. Marie would certainly love to know about him. And she had to tell her about the amazing drawing that Elsa had made. She would never believe that. For that matter, how about the fact that Elsa was actually talking to her now? Even Anna herself still had a hard time crediting that.

So still, the question remained: where to begin?

Anna bit her lower lip as she sifted through all the options in her head. Finally coming to a decision, she put pencil to paper and began to write.

_Dear Marie,_

_I miss you so very much..._


	32. Women and Children

Queen Ellinor warmed herself by the fire in the sitting room, sipping now and then from the large cup of hot chocolate she had brought up from the kitchen. She was nursing it carefully, in part because she wanted to savor the special luxury. She only allowed herself the occasional cup every now and then, primarily for practical reasons. If she treated her sweet tooth as often as she'd have liked, they would never be able to keep enough cocoa in stock.

Mostly, though, she was waiting for someone with whom to share the indulgence.

That someone finally arrived, carrying a mug of her own and a silver carafe that eagerly awaited the chance to refill both cups as soon as they ran dry. Seeing this, Ellinor allowed herself an extra long sip of the sweet beverage before greeting the newcomer. "Hello again, Gerda."

"Good evening, Your Majesty," Gerda replied as she set the pot upon the hearth to keep the contents nice and hot. Then she walked over to the settee and lowered herself onto the cushions with a weary sigh.

"Long day, I take it?"

The older woman shrugged. "No longer than most. I'm afraid that I'm simply not as young as I used to be."

"None of us are," Ellinor agreed, a wry smile playing about her lips. She herself felt like she had aged a decade in the last few years.

"What an odd statement, coming from a woman who's very name means 'ever young.'" As Gerda took a sip of her own drink, her eyes sparkled impishly in the firelight.

The queen's smile turned into a frown. "Oh, please," she scoffed. "You know perfectly well I could never stand that name. I mean, what a way to mess with your daughter's head! Bad enough to name her after a goddess. No pressure there, no, none at all! But when you're little and always dreaming of the day when you're finally all grown up, who wants to be 'ever young'?"

Gerda only smirked. "Not such a bad dream after you've have two children though, hmm?" That earned her a snort for a response.

"I never regretted going by Ellinor," the queen insisted. "Only my mother ever called me Idunn."

"As you say, Your Majesty."

Ellinor stared at her friend, who was gazing into the crackling flames and enjoying a second sip of chocolate. Nobody else, not even Agdar, was ever so casually flippant with her. And yet Gerda still insisted on standing on ceremony, always addressing her by title and never by (either) name. The woman was such a study in contradictions.

Then again, who wasn't?

"It's gone back to being quiet in the castle again," Gerda observed, the faintest touch of sadness coloring her voice. "It's really quite remarkable how two children can make so much more than twice the noise of either on her own."

The queen nodded. "Yes, I'd almost forgotten what it was like around here before Anna and Marie became friends." The palace certainly seemed to be a less lively place now.

Oh, it still had its moments. Whenever Anna came back from the stables, which she often went to visit now even between her riding lessons, she always seemed to have stumbled across a surplus store of energy and excitement. She would go on and on to anyone who would listen about how wonderful Adelen was and how much she loved riding him, even though she still wasn't doing much more than slow circles around the courtyard.

But most of the time, the palace walls seemed to be wistfully remembering the giggling laughter and running feet of the two girls chasing each other through the halls. Now that winter's grip was slipping away and at least the daytime temperatures heralded the oncoming spring, Ellinor would often open the windows to air out the stuffy rooms. Then she would automatically listen for the sounds of children at play outside. When minutes would pass with no such noises, she would catch herself starting to get worried, only belatedly remembering the reason for the silence.

"Might not Your Majesties consider letting some other children into the castle, if only to keep young Anna company?"

Ellinor bit her lip before answering. "It is something that Agdar and I have discussed. It isn't quite as simple as it seems, though. I mean, for starters, how would we decide who to invite? When Anna was young and would play with some of the town's children, she was friendly with them all, of course. Well, you know Anna – she's ready to make a friend out of almost anybody she meets. But she wasn't particularly close to any of them. Her sister was her best friend, and that was always enough for her.

"For that matter, I think it actually took several months before Anna really opened up to Marie. At first, she was just another playmate, like any of those other children had been. Then something happened between them, and it suddenly moved beyond that. It became a truly special friendship, and you don't get many of those at any age.

"So would just a simple playmate be enough for Anna now? Could any of the local children, who've all grown up knowing her as The Princess, ever be that kind of a friend to her? I just don't know. And besides, we don't want her to feel like we're pressuring her into finding a replacement for Marie either." She shook her head. "It's all so..."

Complicated. She didn't say the word. She'd become far too conscious of it lately, and of how it seemed to apply to far too much, far too often. Then again, was there any other word that better described being a parent?

Gerda was nodding sympathetically. "I don't envy you. I'm sure you sometimes wish you had stayed up in the mountains and just lived out a simpler life."

"No," the queen shook her head again, but emphatically this time. "No, I would never give up this life I've chosen. Certainly, it's had its share of hardships. There's been pain and sorrow, and a few regrets along the way, though I'd challenge you to find anyone who hasn't had the same. But there's also been passion and joy and so many amazing memories and experiences. I love Agdar, and I love the girls, and I can't imagine my life now without any of them. They're what makes everything else worthwhile."

Her old friend did not respond. She merely took another sip of her chocolate. Ellinor suddenly realized how long hers had been sitting untouched, and lifted her cup to her lips as well. A companionable silence fell between the two women.

"I had quite the surprise earlier this evening," Gerda spoke at last, though her eyes were once again focused on the fire. "A pleasant one, to be sure, but still..." She cupped her hands around her mug, letting some of the heat bleed into her fingers. Then, without turning her head, she shifted her gaze to the queen's face.

"Elsa spoke to me."

The spoon rattled audibly in Ellinor's cup. Though she had been about to take another drink, she instead lowered her hands slowly to her lap before she replied. "Well, I knew that she's been talking to Anna some lately. Anna told me as much herself. But this is the first I'd heard of her speaking to anyone else."

"I suspect that's because it's probably the first time she's done so. At least, I know it's the first time she's spoken to me. And I rather believe if she'd spoken to anyone else, it would have been the talk of the castle by now."

The queen nodded. "Undoubtedly. So... what did she say?"

"Oh, nothing of any great matter. I'd taken her dinner up to her, as I like to do whenever I can. I was just getting ready to leave when I suddenly heard, 'Thank you, Gerda.' And then, 'Last night's dinner was quite delicious.'

"Well, I don't mind telling you, I wasn't expecting that at all. It was a good thing I had already set her tray on the floor, or otherwise I might well have dropped it. It took me a few moments to remember my manners, and then I finally said, 'You're quite welcome, Your Highness.' And that was all. I waited a few seconds more, to see if she'd say anything else. When she didn't, I left."

Both women now stared at the flickering flames, each lost in their own thoughts

"I wonder what that could mean," Ellinor pondered aloud, even though she was mostly talking to herself.

"I'm sure that I don't know," Gerda answered anyway. "Except, of course, that the princess apparently enjoyed my cooking."

The queen smiled. Seeing an opportunity, her friend decided to chance her luck, though she would still need to tread carefully. "Do you think this is a sign?" she asked. "That is, do you think it might mean that Elsa could possibly leave her room again sometime soon?"

"I wish I knew," Ellinor replied with a sigh. "I would dearly love for that to be true. I hate seeing her shut away like this. But if she is opening up again, even a little, that can only be a good sign, surely. I suppose all we can do is what we have been doing – continue to wait and hope for the best."

Gerda nodded her agreement, but she was already quite busy attempting to eke out every last scrap of information from these short statements. So the queen hated seeing Elsa shut away. That seemed to imply that her daughter's isolation had not been her idea, or that if she had been part of that decision, she was regretting it now. So who's decision had it been? Moreover, she didn't know how this might affect the chances of Elsa leaving her room. That seemed to mean that such a decision wasn't the queen's to make, at least not entirely. So who's was it? She'd mentioned Elsa opening up, which suggested that at least some part of the princess's withdrawal was self-imposed. Had it always been so? Gerda didn't think so. But then what would have caused the change?

As always, every new answer only seemed to generate more questions.

Meanwhile, Ellinor's expression had turned thoughtful. "Gerda, may I ask you a personal question?"

The older lady gifted the queen with a look that would have been answer enough, but she spoke nevertheless. "You should really know better than that by now. Of course, you may ask. I suppose there's always the chance that I might not answer, but I don't suspect that to be particularly likely."

Still, Ellinor hesitated before she finally gave voice to her query. "Do you ever wish you'd had children of your own?"

Gerda simply stared at her for a long while. Her expression was not one of shock or surprise, however. Rather, she appeared to be contemplating her answer quite carefully before responding.

"There have been times, yes," she finally admitted. "Though probably not as many as you might think. Larse and I had many happy years together, and I wouldn't consider any of them empty for the lack of children. Boredom was a rare commodity around our house. We always both kept ourselves plenty busy, often together but sometimes on our own. Our relationship was as much friendship as it was marriage. And as you so rightly pointed out, friendships like those are precious and rare.

"Besides, there were always plenty of youngsters running about our neighborhood, so I was able to be something of a mother-at-large. I'd keep an eye on them when they were playing in the street out front. Knew them all by name. Plus, I naturally developed the reputation for baking the best sweets around," she said, puffing her chest out proudly, "so if I ever wanted a crowd of children in my home, it didn't require much persuasion.

"And the best thing about it was, if they started to get on my nerves, I could just shoo them out and let them go pester their own parents. I'm sure there was more than one mother on our street who quietly cursed my name when her son or daughter came home after having sneaked a few too many pastries off my cooking tray." Both women chuckled, but then Gerda grew rather somber.

"In fact, it was only after Larse passed away that I started feeling any real regret over the matter. On those nights when I find that I can't quite picture his face clearly, or remember the sound of his laugh, a part of me wishes that we'd had a son in whom I could see something of him again. Or a daughter; it wouldn't have mattered. But then some random memory will suddenly bring him back to me, clear as day, and the feeling passes."

With that, Gerda seemed to have said all she felt that she needed to on the subject. Lifting her cup, she allowed herself another long sip.

After a moment, the queen spoke again. "You know, I can see some of you in the girls. Not in their looks, of course, but certainly in their behavior. They both have a mischievous streak that I know didn't come from Agdar, and I refuse to accept the notion that it all came from me."

"Oh, so it's my fault now, is it?" Gerda replied, straightening up with mock indignation.

"Fault? Knowing you, I expected you would find such an accomplishment to be a source of singular pride and triumph."

Gerda attempted to scowl. It only lasted for a few seconds, of course, before her face betrayed her. The corners of her mouth rose as laugh lines crinkled around her eyes. "Well, you need to remember that I was friends with your mother long before you were even born. And from the stories she told me, I felt it only right that you should get a small taste of what you and your siblings put her through."

"Me? I never!" Ellinor appeared genuinely indignant at the accusation, which only seemed to increase the other woman's amusement. "My brother, absolutely. My sister too, at times. But I was always a good child."

This was too much for Gerda, who let out a whoop of laughter that turned the queen's ears red. "Oh my gracious," she finally managed to say when she at last got control of herself again. "And I thought _my_ memory was going. You really must tell that to your sister the next time you see her. I only hope I'm there when you do. Oh, mercy." She chuckled again and shook her head.

Still frowning, Ellinor decided to steer the conversation back to where she'd been wanting to take it in the first place. "Anyway, the point is that you've had a huge influence on both of my daughters. You're as much family to them as anyone could possibly be. Heaven knows you spent enough time with them when they were little.

"Agdar and I always seemed to be so busy all the time back then. I suppose we were young and idealistic. Or perhaps foolish would be a better word. The fact that I can be so proud of who my girls are today is in no small part because of you. It feels like I can never say this enough, but..."

"Now you just stop right there," Gerda cut her off. "I know what you're trying to say, and I do appreciate the sentiment behind it. But there's one thing that you need to understand once and for all. You make it sound like I made some brave and noble sacrifice looking after your girls like I did. Well, nothing could be farther from the truth.

"What you don't seem to realize is that you would have needed to lock me in irons and throw me into the dungeons to keep me away from those two. I have never in my life met two sweeter girls than your Elsa and Anna. And since we've already established that your recall of past events is somewhat suspect, there's something else that I need to make clear: their lovely personalities did not come from me.

"Whatever guilt you may have for the present, don't let it rob you of the good you've done in the past. So you weren't a perfect mother. No such creature exists. But you gave those two everything they needed from you and more. I don't think you will ever hear either one complain. They love you more than they will ever love me (which I'd like to think is saying something), and it isn't only because you're their mother."

Gerda pinned the queen with her most intense stare, trying to make sure that her latest words of wisdom had truly registered. She was pleased to see that the younger woman's eyes were not misting up. Instead, she thought she could see a fierce pride kindling in their depths. Good. That was more like the spitfire she'd known of old.

She lifted her mug to take another drink, only to find it distressingly empty. With a huff, she climbed to her feet and strode over to the fireplace. There she retrieved the carafe she had set down earlier and, with expert skill that did not waste a single drop, she refilled her cup. When finished, she lifted both her head and the pot, and gave the queen a questioning look. Ellinor quickly drained the last swallow of her own drink, then sat forward and held it out to be filled as well.

As they both settled back into their seats once again, blowing over the rim of their cups to cool down the well heated chocolate, Ellinor glanced sideways at her dearest friend. She tried to imagine what it would be like if Gerda was suddenly torn from her life, thinking it might help her to better understand what Anna must be going through right now. But she found that her mind simply refused to conceive of such a scenario.

The woman had been very nearly a second mother to her as well, after she had left home. She had been a stable anchor for so many years now that the queen realized how very easy it would be to simply take her for granted. If anything, Marie's departure was actually shining a new light on her own friendship, rather than the other way around. She was forcefully reminded how absolutely vital it was to make the most of every moment you have with those you care about, for as long as life would allow you that chance.

"Gerda?" she said into the sleepy stillness of the warm room.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"Last night's dinner really was quite extraordinary."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

"Now won't you please call me Ellinor?"

"Not today, Your Majesty."

**A/N: Long time readers will know that I named my queen just a few shorts weeks before someone finally translated her canonical name. By that point, I figured attempting to correct it would only confuse matters. Today, though, I found the perfect spot to slip in a little retcon that addresses the discrepancy. I feel much better now. **


	33. In Pursuit of Elusive Ends

**A/N: Two and a half months. Thirty-three chapters. ONE HUNDRED followers! And yet somehow, I still find it hard to believe that people out there are actually entertained by what I write. Well, my thanks to each and every one of you for the support you've continued to show _Echoes_. The way you all have embraced my crazy ideas has simply been incredible. You make all the hours of typing and pacing and banging my head against the wall worth it. So here's to you!**

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Elsa had decided to take a break – from her studies, from her training, from her drawing, from everything. It had simply turned into one of those lazy afternoons where ambition had utterly abandoned her, and she couldn't work up the energy to start on anything. Even reading one of her books of poetry seemed like more work than she could reasonably be expected to handle. She didn't have such days very often, but when she did, all she felt like doing was curling up someplace warm and shutting off her brain entirely.

Fortunately, she had the perfect spot for doing just that.

Sitting on the cushions beneath her window, with the spring sun streaming in through the diamond-shaped panes, she simply gazed out of the glass at the scene below. She hadn't even bothered to grab her spyglass either. Knowing full well that the delicious warmth of her sun-drenched seat could easily cause her to nod off, she didn't want to risk any damage to it should it fall out of her hands. As it was, she was already feeling her mind growing pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

In fact, only one thing was keeping her from drifting off into a happy doze, but she didn't mind this particular distraction. She always enjoyed watching Anna riding.

Their father was there as well, of course, supervising and instructing her sister. He was no longer leading the horse these days, though. Anna had progressed far enough that she was able to guide Adelen around the courtyard on her own now, exercising a light touch on the reins. It had been alternately amusing and frightening earlier on, watching the horse veer sharply at Anna's overly enthusiastic tugging. Soon, however, both mount and rider had settled down. Now, they came close at times to seeming like they were simply reading each others thoughts.

Right now, Anna was confidently steering him in figure eights around the two glittering fountains, which were once again spouting water high into the sky after being shut off during the freezing winter months. At one point, a sudden gust of wind blew a spurt of water straight into Adelen's face, startling him. He sidestepped, threatening to bolt in the other direction.

For a moment, it looked like Anna might panic as well. The king began to hurry forward, ready to intercede. But then her sister collected herself and, with a firm tug of the reins and a few soothing words, brought the horse back into line. Then they completed their maneuvering without another incident.

As Anna brought Adelen to a halt just a few paces away from their father, she leaned forward and rubbed the horse's neck lovingly. Elsa felt a rush of pride for her little sister. As awkward as she could sometimes be, she seemed to have finally discovered her natural poise whenever she was up in the saddle. Who could have guessed that all it would take to stop Anna from tripping over her own two feet would be adding a few more?

Now the king walked up to stand beside Adelen, reaching forward to scratch him under the chin as he spoke to his daughter. The two conversed for quite a while, Father occasionally gesturing with his hands in an attempt to illustrate whatever particular point he was trying to make. Anna was paying rapt attention, now and then appearing to ask a question or seek clarification on some detail or other.

Elsa found her head beginning to droop, as the lull in the activity outside removed the one distraction that had been keeping her alert. She shook herself, trying to blink the sleep away and remain focused on her father and sister. Still, she couldn't completely stifle a yawn, though she quickly hid it behind her hand.

The heat of the sun felt so good, and the cushions were so soft and comfortable. It was like being wrapped up in the lightest and yet warmest blanket. She felt her eyelids growing heavy and wanting to close. It was so tempting to let them do so, just for a few seconds. By then, Anna would be on to her next exercise, and that would be enough to keep Elsa interested and awake. That wouldn't be so bad, now would it?

Her eyes popped open as she heard a loud squeal from outside. She quickly turned to look and saw Adelen moving at a brisk trot around the courtyard. On his back, Anna bounced up and down, alternately grinning and wincing, depending on whether her seat was lifting off of or dropping heavily onto the saddle.

As far as Elsa knew, this was the first time that their father had allowed Anna to take her horse above a brisk walking gait. Her sister, though, had been talking about the idea eagerly for a week or two at least. Now, it looked like she was getting her wish, and a little added discomfort didn't seem to be dimming her enthusiasm one whit.

Elsa smiled at the sight, knowing full well that she would hear all the exciting (and painful) details later in the day.

Abruptly, the king called out, and Anna dug her heels into Adelen's flanks. The horse sprang forward into a full gallop, crossing the courtyard in moments, turning, and racing back again. He was incredibly fast, and Elsa was fearful that her sister would be thrown by the sudden bursts of speed and the sharp turns. Anna, however, was laughing uproariously, and now seemed to be glued to the saddle. If anything, she seemed to be encouraging Adelen to go even faster, which seemed incredibly reckless in the small confines of the castle walls.

Now, their father turned to the wardens at the gates and waved a signal. With a nod, the two spun on their heels and hauled upon the heavy inner doors. The outer doors opened in kind a moment later. The king turned again to face both horse and rider. Bowing low, he swung his arms to the side, gesturing them towards the open portal.

Adelen reared up. Then his front hooves came thudding down onto the stonework, suddenly facing the gates. In a flash, he and Anna had passed under the castle wall and were thundering away across the bridge, bearing down on the docks and the town with wild abandon.

"No!" Elsa cried. "Anna, don't go! Don't leave me!"

In a blink, she was out of the palace and chasing after them, running faster than she'd ever run before in her life. Amazingly, improbably, she was somehow keeping up. But only keeping up. No matter how hard she pushed herself, the distance between her and her sister refused to shrink. "Anna!" she called out again, but her words seemed to be torn away by the wind of her passage.

The castle faded behind them, as did the docks and the town and the mountains. In fact, everything faded to a foggy grayness. The only thing that remained clearly visible was Anna upon her white horse, whose coat was now shining as brightly as the full moon. Its hooves left behind a sparkling trail, glittering in the dimness.

Without warning, the horse came to a sudden halt. Now Elsa stood just beside it, with no recollection of crossing the intervening distance. She gasped, not with exertion, but with relief. "Oh, Anna. Thank goodness I caught you. You had me so worried! I thought I would never see you again!" She smiled up at her sister, glad to be reunited after all this time.

The rider turned then in the saddle. But it was not Anna's face that looked down at her. It was one equally familiar, however, and yet also strange. Elsa took a step backward, startled. The rider smiled, but the smirk did nothing to reassure the now frightened princess.

Elsa squeezed her eyelids tightly shut, trying to block out that uncanny visage. Yet she knew it was still there, staring at her, waiting for her. Hiding would not make it go away. So, in defiance of her fears, she squared her shoulders and opened her eyes.

There was nothing before her. No rider. No horse. Even the gray fog had gone. Now, everything around her was simply pristine, featureless white. It stretched in every direction, as far as the eye could see. That could have been a few feet or to the very edge of eternity – with nothing to interrupt the unending sameness, scale was completely impossible to determine.

She turned in a slow circle, searching for the horse and rider, or indeed for anyone or anything in this vast emptiness. But she might as well have been at the dawn of creation, or at the end of all things. Besides her own self, there was nothing to be seen. Besides her own breathing, there was nothing to be heard.

So who was tapping her on the shoulder?

Elsa spun around and found herself barely a foot away from the mysterious figure who had appeared atop Anna's horse. Again, she backed a step away, but the distance between them did not increase. Moreover, she found that she could not look away. She now had no choice but to examine the person who had so stunned her moments ago.

It was a girl, exactly the same height as Elsa herself. Her hair was jet black, though it seemed to catch and reflect blue highlights from somewhere. It was cut short, and somehow managed to convey the sense of being very carefully and thoughtfully unkempt. Her eyes were heavily lidded and, together with the sly smile that seemed to be a permanent fixture of her face, suggested a treasure trove of hidden secrets that could be yours for the taking, if only their keeper found you worthy.

But the most disturbing feature, and the thing that simultaneously repulsed and excited Elsa, was the fact that, if she could only look past the haughty expression it wore, that face was one that she knew better than any other. After all, she looked at it in the mirror every single day.

"Hello, Elsa," her doppelganger said easily, her tone darkly amused.

The sound of her own voice coming from those other lips sent a shiver down the princess's spine. "Who are you?" she whispered, as if to make sure she would be able to tell her own voice apart. "I know who you want me to think you are, but that isn't possible."

The other girl laughed. The sound possessed a mirth of sorts, but it was like no laughter that had ever before issued from Elsa's throat. Then her double spoke again, mocking Elsa by lowering her voice to a whisper as well. "Silly girl. Where we are, everything is possible."

Now her black-haired twin began circling her and, despite the fact that she herself wasn't moving, Elsa nevertheless experienced a strange sense of vertigo. The other continued. "But then, I'm sure you wouldn't understand the idea of infinite possibility. After all, you've spent your entire life telling yourself what a princess should and shouldn't, can and cannot do. You haven't even let yourself imagine the endless possibilities that could await you. It's why we have never spoken before now.

"You've constantly hobbled yourself. You've always let others define who you are and what you are meant to become. Even now, when you've finally begun to take the first tiniest steps toward embracing your true self, you continue to let the mundane hold you back. When will you finally allow yourself to celebrate your true strength? What will it take before you stop denying everything you were meant to be?"

"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Elsa stammered. This was not entirely true. It would have been more accurate to say that she refused to admit what she knew perfectly well.

"Tsk, tsk. Still hiding even from yourself, I see. I suppose that isn't surprising. Disappointing, yes, but not surprising. After all, that's what a frightened little animal does, isn't it? Run and hide. Make yourself as small and insignificant as you possibly can. Crawl into your safe little hole and hope that the big scary world doesn't notice you."

Elsa realized that she had indeed drawn her arms tightly against her sides and across her chest, shoulders pulled up and head dropped low. In trying to protect herself, she was doing her best to disappear. She forced herself to stand straight once again, lifting her chin in a gesture of confidence and defiance that she really did not feel.

"So what if I am afraid? Father says fear is just nature's way of keeping us alert. Even the bravest are afraid of something at sometime."

"True," nodded her other self. "But doesn't Father also say that the true mark of bravery is doing what needs to be done despite your fears? Hmm? What have you been doing, Elsa? What noble acts of courage have you performed, alone in your room for almost three years?"

Elsa searched frantically for an answer, trying with all her might to ignore the possibility that none might exist. The longer her silence stretched out, however, the broader the other girl's smirk became, which only served to unsettle Elsa all the more. At last, she blurted out the one and only thing she had truly been doing ever since she had first cloistered herself behind her door.

"I'm protecting Anna! I'm keeping my sister safe."

"Ah, yes. And a very noble sacrifice it is, indeed. Giving up your freedom and your own happiness so your sister can live a normal life. That is, if you consider it normal to hardly ever leave the castle, to have only played with one other child for the past three years, to sit in the hallway day after day talking to a silent door..."

Elsa's composure finally snapped. "I'm doing the best that I can! What else do you want from me? What more do you expect me to do?"

Her dark-haired reflection grabbed her fiercely by the shoulders and shook her once sharply. Her eyes were ablaze with passion. "Embrace your gifts, Elsa! Stop holding them back. Stop holding yourself back. With the power you have at your command, you could do amazing things. With your abilities, you would have no need to fear anything ever again!"

"No, I can't!" Elsa's eyes had suddenly grown wide. "I... I still can't control it. I'm trying, truly I am. It just takes so much time. I don't know what I'm doing. It's like I'm stumbling blindly in the dark. Every bit of progress is a struggle. Every little success comes only after countless failures. I'm not going to give up, but I also can't rush things. I don't dare take that chance. I couldn't bear to see the ones I love get hurt because of me. Not again." She lowered her head in shame at the memory.

"Oh, of course not," crooned the other, and she lifted one hand and stroked a finger gently down Elsa's cheek. Elsa felt a spark leap between them, and her head jerked up. She found herself looking directly into those other eyes. They were the exact same shade of icy blue as her own. And despite herself, she found some comfort in them. They really did seem to understand her somehow.

"Very well, then. Perhaps it is foolish to attempt to rush things too much. Time will out, as they say. Still, I think a little nudge wouldn't go awry. Just a hint, to help you move beyond your current impasse."

"What are you talking about? What sort of hint?" Elsa found herself getting anxious once again. Accepting comfort from this strange apparition was one thing. Taking advice from her was another matter entirely.

The smile broadened on her other face. She thought – or did she just imagine – that she saw genuine warmth there. Nevertheless, one side still rose up higher than the other, the crooked expression once again intimating that its owner knew far more than she would ever willingly tell.

"Look out the window," she said.

Elsa looked around. The same featureless whiteness continued to surround her on all sides. "What window?" she asked, more confused than ever.

"Look out the window."

The princess turned back, but her dark double had vanished. Once more, she found herself utterly alone. Again, she turned around on the spot, but there was no sign of anything or anyone. A sense of panic gripped her chest, and she began to run blindly. At least her legs were churning and her arms were pumping, but there was no visible evidence that she was making any sort of progress.

"Where are you? Where did you go?" she cried out into the emptiness. Not even echoes answered her. She knew she had begun to cry, though she didn't actually feel the tears on her cheeks. She had to get out of this place, had to get back to Arendelle, to the palace, to her room. She would be safe there. But she didn't know how she'd arrived here, and she didn't know how to leave, and she didn't even know how long she'd been gone, and would Mother and Father be looking for her, and would they be panicking when they couldn't find her? And what would they tell Anna? She'd just lost Marie, could she take losing her sister now too?

Without warning, Elsa felt her legs fly out from underneath her. Whether she'd tripped over her own feet or some unseen obstacle hidden amid the nothingness, she couldn't say. Or perhaps it was simply that the nothingness that she had been running on was now not even there. How nothingness could vanish, she didn't know. Still, she found herself falling, and the fall continued for far longer than it should have taken her if she was simply going to strike the surface she had been standing on moments before.

Despite the lack of anything by which to measure her descent, she nevertheless somehow had a sensation of speed... and it was increasing. If there was a bottom beneath her, if she was falling towards something – even if it was just a more solid nothing – the impact would be excruciating at the least. If she kept accelerating, it was likely to be far worse. And yet, she somehow felt strangely calm.

She closed her eyes, but all that did was hide her body. The same endless whiteness now lurked even behind her eyelids. She had just resigned herself to the fact that she might very well fall forever, when a strange sensation crawled over her skin. Her eyes snapped open. And though the view had not changed, she knew that her descent was coming to a close. Whatever she was speeding toward, it was approaching quickly. She had only seconds left.

Drawing a deep breath, she prepared herself for whatever end might come.

"_Look out the window!_"

Elsa's body spasmed as she awoke with a start. The back of her elbow banged against the edge of the bench, and she let out a cry of mingled pain and surprise. She sat up, rubbing her smarting funny bone and looking about in momentary confusion. She was back in her room, still seated beneath her window. Her warm spot of sun had only traveled a short way from where she last remembered it, when she had been watching Anna practicing her riding down in the courtyard.

She turned and looked out the window.

Anna had dismounted and was leading Adelen on foot towards the stables. Father was walking alongside her. He was looking down at his daughter, but wasn't saying much. It looked like her sister was talking quite animatedly and fairly well monopolizing the conversation. Elsa felt a pang of regret that she had fallen asleep and missed the last half of Anna's riding for the day.

She was just about to hop down off the bench when a flash of movement caught her eye. She scanned the scene below until she found the source. Two other figures were hurrying out from the palace entrance, heading straight for the castle gates. One looked like it might be Gerda. The other was a man pushing a good sized hand truck before him.

As they drew near the gate, the wardens swung open one half of the large double doors, and the two passed outside in single file. It seemed clear that some delivery had arrived and would soon be brought back through the gates and on to the palace. Now curious, Elsa waited. Most likely, she would only see a stack of wooden crates that would reveal nothing of their contents. But something kept her looking out the window anyway.

After perhaps a minute had passed, the man reappeared, pushing his burden with decidedly greater difficulty than he had on the outward leg of the trip. Elsa squinted to try to make out what had been piled up on the hand truck. It wasn't crates after all, she could tell that much. But what was it? She briefly considered fetching her telescope, but was afraid the man would reenter the castle before she had a chance to retrieve it. So instead, she just continued to watch as he drew ever closer. Then suddenly, she recognized the merchandise.

It was ice! Several large, heavy blocks of it were stacked one atop another. The afternoon sun reflected off the wet surfaces in shining flashes as the hand truck's wheels jostled across the paving stones. With the warmer weather, the ice harvesters had moved further north and up onto the high mountain lakes. Some of the ice they brought back was now delivered domestically, as opposed to the winter months when nearly all of it was quickly shipped off to warmer climes.

As Elsa watched the sparkling, chest-sized bricks disappear into the castle and out of sight, a thought suddenly struck her like a lightning bolt. Her mouth fell dumbly open as she marveled at her own momentous folly. Why hadn't she thought of this before?

Leaping off her seat, she rushed across to where her washbasin rested on its small table in the corner. She didn't even bother taking it back to her desk. She already had her gloves off by the time she reached it, dropping them thoughtlessly on the floor at her feet.

Perhaps she would have come upon the idea sooner if only she hadn't decided to start mastering her powers in the middle of winter. It probably hadn't helped that she had begun only a few days after that week-long blizzard, which had blanketed the entire kingdom in snow. Naturally, that had been the first thing to come to her mind. She just couldn't believe it had taken this long for her to consider the obvious alternative.

She thought back, trying to remember what it had felt like whenever she had created ice years ago. Most often, she had only ever covered the floor with it, and a stomp of her foot had been enough to start something that simple. But the feel of the power as it flowed out of her had definitely been different too. The magic that made snow always felt a little scattered, like the spray of the fountain as it shot into the air. Ice magic seemed to be more concentrated, more directed.

It made sense, after all. Snow by its very nature is diffuse, so many separate flakes. But ice is a solid crystal, growing outward layer upon layer. Really, it was so much simpler than snow. Could it possibly be _that _simple?

She closed her eyes and tried to picture ice. Not just a sheet of it, but ice like she had just seen delivered to the castle. Ice chopped and chipped into the most convenient shape for transport and storage. When she had the image firmly in mind, she pointed a single finger at the basin and let the magic stream out of the tip, like pressurized water suddenly released in a powerful stream.

She deliberately chose not to watch. Instead, she let her instincts guide her. In her mind's eye, she watched the block start out small, like a grain of salt, and then begin to grow in size as the magic continued to pour into it, over it, around it. Somehow, inexplicably, it just felt right in a way that none of her experiments with snow ever had.

When the ice in her mind reached what seemed like a reasonable size, Elsa clamped down on her power again and felt the flow stop almost at once. Now came the moment of truth. She almost didn't want to look, for fear of the disappointment that surely awaited her. Then again, this was her first attempt, and she had to start somewhere. She would never learn anything if she didn't try. At last, hardly daring to breathe, she opened her eyes.

Elsa stared in amazement at the perfect cube sitting in the middle of her basin. Every facet was absolutely smooth. Every edge was straight and sharp. And even though the magic was no longer flowing, the shape remained solid and unwavering.

She had never been able to maintain snow in this shape without that constant reinforcement. The initially sharp corners would inevitably slough off, resulting in just another oddly lumpy snowball. But ice! Ice held the corners and the edges. Ice happily kept the shape you gave it. Ice wanted to stay together, to remain whole.

Could ice possibly be the key to understanding and controlling her abilities, once and for all?

Wonderful ideas and possibilities chased each other through her mind, each pushing out the last in the sudden rush of excitement. There were so many things she wanted to try. Of course, there was still the matter of disposing of the ice, but she felt sure she would think of something when the time came. Right now, all she could think about was creating!

Any memories of a strangely prescient black-haired girl were already drifting away, quickly lost amid the chaos of wakefulness and triumph. In moments, the strange encounter had slipped beyond any possibility of recall.

After all, it had only been a dream...


	34. Fragile Understandings

**A/N: To Yasmim at ReindeersRemix. Your fic rec made me a... happy snowman!**

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Every artist has their preferred medium, and Elsa had the definite feeling that hers was going to be ice.

While she had struggled to make any headway at all with snow, sculpting ice seemed to come to her far more naturally. She had found that she could create basic geometric shapes with little effort, often on her first try. After months of frustration, it was exhilarating to see that sort of progress come so quickly.

That still didn't make it easy by any stretch of the imagination, however. In fact, it was rather like starting all over again with her pencils. Sure, it was simple enough to make cubes and spheres, but that amounted to little more than the ice magic equivalent of doodling. It had been easy to draw squares and circles too when she'd first begun sketching. When she had attempted to draw something real, though, it had required developing a whole new set of skills along with far greater control.

The same was true with ice, only more so. After all, sculpture quite literally added a whole new dimension to the problem. Her first attempts to grow a fully formed figure ended up looking even more vague and approximate than her early sketches had. That was hopefully something that would improve with time and practice, and she was already making encouraging strides in that direction.

Meanwhile, however, ice was nowhere near as forgiving as her pencils when it came to correcting her mistakes. The downside to the fact that ice held its shape more readily than snow was, of course, that ice held its shape. Unlike snow, which could sort of be molded like clay, ice was more like working with stone. That meant that the closest thing she had to an eraser was trying to carve details out of the ice, chipping away the unwanted pieces that shouldn't be there.

Except, of course, that she wasn't even using something as simple and straightforward as a chisel. She was having to discover how to do the same using only her powers. Having already reshaped snow, she felt certain that this should be possible too. But the two skills were so dissimilar that her past experiments weren't much help here. She had once again found herself at the bottom of the learning curve.

Nevertheless, she couldn't help but feel a new excitement for her practices. Not that there weren't disappointing setbacks. Her control over this new flavor of magic was still rather clumsy. All too frequently, her painstaking progress on a particular work would be shattered by a push that was a little off target or simply just too hard. Sometimes, it was enough to make her want to scream. She didn't dare indulge in such a release, however, lest someone hear and inform her parents. So the best that she could do on those days was simply to set the work aside for a while, with a promise to herself that she would do better the next time.

Because it was so very much like the early stages of her sketching, she also found herself returning to some of the same subjects that she had attempted to capture way back then. It helped to have the drawings as references, of course. In a few cases, however, she still actually had the original model to work from. Today, she had decided to revisit one of those – one of her favorites.

Elsa propped the little red-haired doll so that it sat against a stack of books on her desk, then began to examine it closely. Because the details were so sparse, she was instead free to pay more attention to the proportions. She tried to get a clear sense of how wide the head was relative to the shoulders, how long the arms were compared to the length of the torso, and so on. Even with a simple child's toy like this, there were still so many little things that required her attention if she hoped to create an accurate replica.

Still, the fact that it was made up primarily of fairly basic shapes worked in her favor. Plus, there really wasn't a tremendous amount of small detail. More to the point, she knew it so very well. She had felt from the start that this would be a particularly good model from which to work.

At least, that's what she had thought the first time she'd tried it. And the second. By the third time, though, she had begun to realize that even the simplest things could give rise to thorny problems all their own.

Finally feeling satisfied that she had as clear a sense of the doll as she was going to get, Elsa raised her hand towards the basin to begin yet another attempt. She wasn't closing her eyes anymore, like she had that first time. But she was still struggling to decide whether she got better results by focusing on the model she was trying to copy or by watching the growing ice itself.

As she began to let the magic flow, she opted to watch the ice this time, sparing only occasional quick glances at the doll for comparison as her frozen replica began to take form. It started as a small ball. Then the two legs began to grow out across the bottom of the bowl. She was once again grateful that the doll's feet ended in a simple rounded-off shape. It allowed her to save her concentration for the parts that really needed it.

This next bit was one such part. She allowed a thin sheet to spread over and across both legs, while also fanning it out to either side. The skirt had proven tricky every time. Even considering the doll's relatively heavy fabric, it was hard to capture all the little folds that creased it. Trying to get it to look like it hung naturally was a struggle. The result this time wasn't bad, she supposed, but it really wasn't entirely to her satisfaction either. Still, she decided to move on. Maybe she could come back to try and improve it later.

The torso sprouted upwards from the waist, and then the arms forked off to either side. She had to take a little care with the thumbs that stuck out of the side of the hands, but that bit was relatively easy, especially compared to what came next. This was, after all, where things always seemed to start going wrong every time she had attempted this particular creation.

Up popped the skinny little neck. Then, swelling like a balloon, came the head – that giant head that was almost as large as the entire rest of the body put together. A big head like that was fine when it was stuffed with light fluff and could be allowed to flop around on a soft and flexible neck. But just try to make it out of ice instead, and...

The first time she'd attempted this, she had unthinkingly just made it a solid oblong of ice. It hadn't even made it to its full size before the spindly neck had fractured under the weight and the head had fallen into the basin and cracked. So she had tried to hollow it out on her subsequent attempts, with mixed results.

She had persisted, however, confident that she had the right idea if only she could get the knack for it. And eventually she had, finally discovering just the right thickness to make the walls so that they could hold their shape without becoming too heavy. Still, it had proven surprisingly difficult to maintain that uniform thickness throughout. As a result, she was quite pleased when this latest attempt went even better than her last.

Now, though, she had to add the hair. The little bit on top wasn't so bad. She could just thicken the ice there a little and it worked pretty well. It was those braids! Thick bundles on either side of the head that shrunk to narrow constrictions, only to expand and then contract again, several times over until they finally ended in tiny little knobs. She couldn't just focus on one at a time either, because that would throw the already precarious head dangerously off balance. So she had to either try to do them both at once or else shift her attention back and forth from one to the other.

She allowed herself a short respite before pushing forward. Once again, she reflected how much nicer it was knowing that the ice wouldn't collapse on her just because she stopped the flow of magic. It gave her a chance to breathe, and to stretch out the muscles in her neck that she hadn't even realized had become so tense during her concentration.

After only a few short moments, however, she was eager to continue. Once again allowing a thin stream of power to exit through her fingertip, she began to build up the base of one pigtail. Again, she tried keeping it hollow to control the weight, so it was a matter of layering progressively smaller rings atop one another. Every so often, she would switch to the other side to maintain balance. Back and forth she went.

She reached the first slender point. The walls were so close together by then that she just closed them off before continuing. Now, she had to start making the rings grow slowly wider. It felt like her progress was agonizingly slow, but she was not yet sure enough in her abilities to move any faster. Just to play it safe, she even went back and added a tiny extra bit of thickness to the neck, to try to support the growing weight.

She was beginning to go cross-eyed with the effort of staring so intently at the tapering extensions. Almost there. Only a little further and she would be able to relax again. Of course, she could stop again right now if she really wanted to, but she was so close! She'd never made it this far before, and she simply could not wait to see it through. Just a little more...

_Knock knock knock!_

Elsa couldn't help it. Already wound tight with concentration, she reflexively jumped at the noise. Her attention slipped, and so did her grip on the magic. She felt the pulse leaving her even as she desperately tried to clamp down on it, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow down as the little blast crashed into the fragile sculpture.

Of course, the neck snapped first. The head wobbled for a moment, then tilted and fell to one side. One braid smacked into the bottom of the wash basin, disintegrating as the weight of the head drove down upon it. An arm snapped off as the hollow oblong pivoted on the stump of the pigtail. Then the head itself impacted, landing in large part on the figure's lap. The thin sheet that made up the skirt cracked and splintered. The head split in two when it fell across the solid ice that made up one of the legs. Then each half shattered as it finally connected with the bottom of the bowl.

Elsa stared at the pathetic remnants of her little sculpture. She felt a single tear slide down her cheek.

"Elsa?" It was her father at the door. "May I come in?"

Struggling to keep her voice from betraying her frustration, the princess called back, "Just give me a moment, please!"

Her eyes darted around the room. She still didn't want her father to learn about her private exercises. She remained convinced that his idea of controlling her powers still consisted of completely suppressing them. But she also knew there was no way she could get rid of the ice so quickly, since her only solution to that problem so far had been to let it melt in the warm sun from her window. All of which meant that the best she could do was hide it. Grabbing the basin, she hurried over and slid it out of sight underneath her bed.

Making sure that the covers completely hid the incriminating evidence from view, she brushed at the front of her dress to dislodge any small splinters of ice that might still have been clinging to her. Only then did she finally call back, "Okay, you can come in now."

The door handle rattled. "Um, I'm afraid I can't, princess. The door is still locked."

"Oh, right. Sorry." She scurried across the room and undid the bolt, then opened the door and held it as the king entered.

"I'm sorry I interrupted you," he said, glancing around as if hoping to see what exactly it was that Elsa had been in the middle of when he had knocked. "Is everything okay?"

"Sure, everything's fine," Elsa replied as brightly as she could manage. "I was just... braiding my hair." She lifted up the end of her braid by way of demonstration. "I'd nearly finished and didn't want it to unravel all over again. Sorry to keep you waiting."

"Oh, no need to apologize." Her father brushed the matter away with a wave of his hand, though his eyes were still darting about the room. "It's just... I could have sworn I heard something breaking."

The princess smiled. "You probably just heard my hair brush. You startled me when you knocked, and I bumped the table and knocked it onto the floor. I think it bounced off a couple of the drawers on the way down."

Agdar eyed her skeptically. The noise he'd heard had sounded nothing like a falling brush. It had definitely been a shattering sound, and he had noticed that her little washbasin was nowhere to be seen. He almost called her out on it, but then decided to let it pass. He still remembered just enough of his own younger years to know how easily things like this could happen. And considering all the items around the castle that he'd needed to have repaired or replaced over the years thanks to his younger daughter... well, Elsa was probably due a basin or two by now.

"Then I apologize again," he said with the smallest of bows, "for surprising you. I was only thinking that it had been a little while since we'd had a chance to just sit and talk. I suppose I'm sorry for that too, come to think of it. It's just that, what with Marie leaving, and then with the riding lessons to try to keep Anna's spirits up..."

"You don't have to explain, Father," Elsa assured him. "I understand, and I really don't mind. You and Mother were there for me when I needed you. It's only right that Anna should get the attention now."

Agdar scowled a little. "I should be able to make time for both of you," he said a little gruffly. "It seems to be a problem of mine. I keep trying to do better. But then one day I look up, and I suddenly realize how badly I've let things slip without ever meaning to."

Elsa's smiled again, and she didn't have to fake it this time. There had been so many moments when she was younger that she'd found herself looking up at this same face and thinking of that man not as her father, but as The King. At times, she'd been downright intimidated by him, especially when he talked so seriously to her about all the responsibilities she would have to take on when she grew up and inherited the throne.

As she herself had grown, however, she thought she'd begun to understand her father a little better. That had been truer than ever during this past year, when he seemed to be allowing that veneer of royal detachment to slip a little bit at a time. As much as for any other reason, she had enjoyed watching Anna and Marie's fencing lessons just to see her father letting himself drop the pretense for a few minutes of the day. She loved seeing him that way.

"Well, you're here now," she said, "and that's enough for me. So, what should we talk about?"

He blinked back at her with such an owlish look of surprise, it was all she could do not to laugh. If you wanted a stirring speech or shrewd negotiations, there were few finer than her father. But if you wanted a few minutes of light conversation, there were probably a couple suits of armor in the corridors who would be more comfortable with such a challenge.

Nevertheless, his mind finally managed to stumble across a suitable topic. "How has your drawing been going lately? Anything new that you'd be willing to show to someone as artistically challenged as me?"

Elsa's face broke intro a grin. "I think I might have a few." She crossed over to her desk, pulled her newest sketchbook out of its drawer, and carried it over to the window where the light was brightest. Her father joined her on the bench as she began to flip through the pages, trying to find some of her favorites.

Her father stopped her after only a few pages, however, when he pointed to one drawing that had apparently caught his eye. It was a very rough study, consisting of mostly circles and a few connecting lines as she'd tried to quickly block out the basic shapes. "That figure on horseback," he said. "I take it that's Anna and Adelen?"

Elsa nodded. "I enjoy watching the two of you – well, three, I guess – practice down in the courtyard. I really look forward to each lesson, actually. Probably not as much as Anna does, but..."

"I know," the king replied, and he was peering at her intently as he spoke. "There's a reason I've continued to hold Anna's lessons there. Normally, I probably would have at least started out back in the gardens. If nothing else, it would have meant a somewhat softer landing if, by some chance, Anna had ever fallen off. In fact, that had actually been my plan, initially.

"But on the very first day that I was actually going to let Anna get up into the saddle, I just happened to catch a glimpse of you watching from your window. It was as we were walking Adelen out of the stables and back toward the palace. I couldn't be sure of what I thought I'd seen, because the sun was angling off the window and making it hard to see clearly. Still, I just knew. Right then, I changed my mind. And I've kept my eyes open, surreptitiously of course, ever since. So I've seen you watching, almost every time."

The princess stared up at her father, her own eyes now grown wide. Certainly, this hadn't been the first time she'd been spotted sitting by her window, so that was no huge shock. But that her father had deliberately held the lessons where she could watch? She never would have considered the possibility. It raised another one, however.

"And... and the sword lessons?" she managed to stammer out.

The little twist of her father's mouth was the only answer she needed. Quickly dropping the pad onto the bench next to her, she leaned over and wrapped her arms as far around him as she could reach. She felt his arms encircle her as well.

"Thank you, Papa," she said, nuzzling her cheek against his chest and feeling additionally grateful that he hadn't chosen to wear his formal tunic with all the medals today.

"Oh, it was the least I could do," he replied as he patted her back. "Unless, of course, you think you might like a horse of your own."

Elsa laughed, shaking her head as she straightened up again. "No, I don't think I'm quite ready for that just yet. Maybe some day, though."

She began to reach for her sketchpad, only to suddenly find her father's hand gently gripping her forearm. "Elsa," he said, surprise evident in his tone, "you're not wearing your gloves!"

She looked down at her hands. Sure enough, they were both bare. Once again, she'd forgotten to put them on after her practice. She'd been in such a hurry to hide the icy evidence that it had completely slipped her mind.

"No," she replied weakly. "I guess I'm not."

Dreading what she was about to see, she turned her head just enough so that she could look up and meet her father's eyes. What she saw there was the last thing she had expected.

King Agdar beamed at her. "That's wonderful, Elsa! I can only assume that's because you're gaining some confidence with your powers? That maybe you're starting to feel like you can finally control them well enough to keep them hidden again, even without the gloves?"

Elsa nodded almost imperceptibly. "Um, something like that."

"I knew you could do it!" her father nearly crowed. "I knew it! Congratulations!"

"Well, I'm not there yet," she scrambled to clarify. "I mean, I'd like to think I'm getting better. But I still need more time."

"Of course, of course," he agreed. "I didn't mean to suggest otherwise. Take however long you feel you need." Still, the grin did not leave his face nor dim in the slightest. "I am so proud of you, Elsa."

Feeling a little queasy, Elsa smiled back halfheartedly. Not quite trusting herself with a reply, she merely nodded once more.

"Now, what else do you have in that wonderful sketchbook of yours?" the king asked jovially, his spirits as high as she could ever remember seeing them.

Finding herself uncomfortably aware of every movement of each and every single finger, Elsa pulled the pad back onto her lap. As she reopened it and began to turn the pages, she couldn't stop three little words from rebounding endlessly inside her head.

_Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel. Conceal, don't feel..._


	35. Consonance and Dissonance

Anna was alone in the library. This wasn't exactly unprecedented, but it could certainly be classified as unusual.

At the moment, she was lying on her back on the new chaise lounge that her mother had ordered several months earlier. Her head was propped against the single arm rest, pillowed by one arm. The other arm hung over the edge of the cushions, swinging lazily back and forth. She stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

She was so bored.

Her tutor, Prof. Engelstad, had been sick for the last few days, so she'd had no classes. Mother was busy giving Elsa her own lessons at the moment. Meanwhile, her father was engaged in prolonged talks with the ambassador from Spain, which meant that her riding lessons had been postponed and wouldn't be able to resume until the negotiations had concluded. She'd gone and visited Adelen in the stables anyway, but you could only groom a horse for so long before both of you began to lose interest.

She'd even briefly entertained the thought of going to the portrait gallery to have a conversation with Joan, or maybe strike up a relationship with one of the other paintings. The only thing that had stopped her was that so little had been happening these last few days, she couldn't for the life of her think what she might possibly say.

In the end, she'd wandered into the library with the vague notion of perusing the titles in hopes of finding one that might pique her fancy. Her selection had been somewhat limited due to the fact that she could only reach the bottom shelf. Eventually, she had pulled down one about horse care and riding, then flopped down on the long chair and began flipping through the pages.

The book now lay on the floor beneath her limply dangling hand. It turned out that horses in books were nowhere near as much fun as the real thing, at least not to Anna.

So now she was just lying there, trying to think of what else she might do to pass the empty hours that stretched before her. She had hoped that at least the quiet of the library would help her concentrate on that. What she hadn't counted on was that the silence would be so absolute that every single tick of the grandfather clock would become so insistently audible.

_Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock._

It was really quite amazing how such an insignificant little noise could be so completely distracting.

Even with nothing to do, however, Anna simply was not the type who could sit still for very long. The way her feet kept swinging back and forth was ample proof that all this inaction was only causing a potentially dangerous buildup of restless energy. Unable to stand it any longer, she rolled off the lounge, quickly returned the book to its place on the shelf, and then walked out through the tall doors into the long passageway beyond.

She still had no idea what to do, and as such had no idea where to go to do it. But at least getting up and moving again felt good. She hadn't gone very far at all before her pace had quickened to a trot. When she saw the end of the corridor approaching, she broke into both a grin and a run.

She was nearly out of hallway when, with an extra burst of speed, she leaped as high and far as she could. She might be small, but years of practice jumping to reach tree branches had given her certain advantages. She snagged the column at the top of the stair case with her right hand, spinning around it to alter her trajectory, and then landed with satisfying accuracy atop the railing of the grand spiral staircase.

She laughed with delight as she began the dizzying descent down two stories of well-polished banister. By the time she reached the bottom, her only cause for disappointment was that Arendelle Palace wasn't a taller building.

Already feeling better than she had a few short minutes ago, she found herself skipping through the ground floor passages. She had actually begun to hum an aimless little melody to herself, so she very nearly missed the quietly spoken words as she was passing the closed door of a normally unused room.

"It all comes back to whatever happened with Elsa that night three summers ago."

Anna's skipping immediately turned into a stumble, and only by grabbing hold of the doorpost did she keep herself off of the floor. Quietly, she pressed herself against the door, barely daring to breathe as she strained to listen.

"We still don't know for certain that anything _did_ happen with Elsa that night." That was Gerda's voice, she was sure of it.

"We don't know anything for certain." That sounded like Kai. "But we've gone over this how many times already? The king and the queen ride off into the night with both princesses, and they don't come back until the next morning. By the end of that day, the orders come down that most of the staff are being let go and that the castle is to be sealed. Then the very next morning, Elsa is moved to a different bedroom, and she's barely been seen or even heard from since. I don't know how else you interpret that."

Anna was confused. Most of what she had just heard, she already knew. Those days three years ago leading up to Elsa's exile were something she didn't think she'd ever forget. But she didn't remember any nighttime ride preceding them. It seemed like something unusual enough that it should have been extremely memorable, however. Why would she remember everything else from that time so clearly, but not that? What were Kai and Gerda talking about?

"I know, I know," Gerda responded. "All I'm saying is that we still know so very little, so we have no business jumping to conclusions or ruling anything out. I mean, something clearly happened that night, and yes, it seems likely that Elsa was involved in some way. But let's not forget that her bedroom and the palace personnel weren't the only changes."

There was a short pause in which Kai must have been trying to recall what he had left out. It apparently occurred to him fairly quickly, though. "Oh, yes, of course. Well, we haven't exactly gotten any closer to explaining that than we have to any of the other answers, have we?"

"But that's the point, isn't it? We don't know. You say, 'whatever happened with Elsa,' but something happened with Anna that night too. That's plainly obvious."

_With me?_ Anna nearly gasped, but bit her lip instead to keep from making any sound that might give her away. This was becoming more and more disorienting, hearing others talk about events happening to her of which she had absolutely no recollection. She knew that there were an uncomfortable number of secrets hiding around the castle of late. She'd had no idea, however, that she was apparently one of them!

"Fair enough," Kai allowed. "So what else do we think we know? Based on what you saw that morning, it seems likely that His Majesty made the decision to move Elsa. We don't know how much input the queen might have had as well, but she at the very least seems to have given her approval."

"Yes, but somewhere along the way, I do believe she had a change of heart. If nothing else, she seems to be questioning whether or not it was the right thing to do. Of course, it now seems like Elsa is the one who has decided that she needs to stay hidden away."

"Not always, though. You saw her once down in the kitchens, and we both saw her in the parlor on the day that poor Marie had her accident. Moreover, she looked perfectly fine and healthy both times."

"I don't know about perfectly fine. That time she came down to the kitchen, the poor girl looked like it was taking every ounce of courage she had not to turn tail and run, at least at first. Of course, I think that might well have been the first time she'd left her room, too. It was certainly the first time her mother had seen her out and about, based on how shocked she was. Then in the parlor..."

"Yes yes, we were all quite shaken up in the parlor. Are you debating everything I say just on general principal, or do you simply enjoy it that much?"

There was a bit of an edge to Gerda's voice when she replied. "You were the one who insisted that we had to take extra care with every little detail, because we had so little to go on to begin with. Or did that fact slip your mind as well?"

The pause that followed would have been the perfect fit for a sigh, though Anna could not hear it through the door. "I'm sorry, you're quite right. Still, the point I was trying to make was that there didn't seem to be anything physically wrong with Elsa either time."

"Well, that's true enough. But then we ruled out any sort of illness a long time ago, so I'm not sure that fact helps us very much."

"If nothing else, it means that Elsa didn't come out of her room just because she was feeling sick or needed something so badly that she just couldn't wait. She came out because she simply chose to, in much the same way that she's simply chosen to start talking to you now."

"She might have started talking to Anna, but she only spoke to me the one time."

"Still, it's all been her choice. So what would make her choose to isolate herself in her room for nearly three years now, with only the briefest of contacts with the outside world, aside from her parents?"

The silence that followed was quite long. Anna strained even harder to hear, afraid that if the two grownups had switched to whispering, she might not hear another word. She was just about to drop to the floor and try to peek under the door when Gerda spoke again.

"I still say it seems to me like the poor girl is terrified of something. She feels safe in her room for some reason, but she's so frightened of... of... of whatever it is that she can't bring herself to come out."

"Hmm. I could almost believe that. It would explain a good deal. Say she suddenly developed a fear of other people, or of interacting with them at least. Then the reduction in staff and the closure of the castle to outsiders would almost start to make sense. Phobias like that are uncommon, but not unheard of. But those sorts of irrational fears aren't so casually set aside either. If that's truly the case, then what convinced her to leave her room those few times? Of course, you did say she was frightened that first time you saw her, so maybe..."

"It's me. Elsa's frightened of me."

Gerda and Kai both jumped, turning shocked faces towards the sound of the voice. Anna stood in the entrance, still grasping the handle of the door she had silently opened.

"Anna! Goodness gracious, you startled us!" Gerda tried to laugh, but the color draining from her cheeks betrayed her attempts at joviality. "We were just talking about..."

"I heard," the princess interrupted. "I'm sorry, eavesdropping is rude. But I heard enough to know what the two of you are up to."

The two conspirators exchanged nervous glances. "Anna," Kai began, "we can explain."

"You're not paying attention," Anna said, and a hint of a pout pursed her lips. "I'm not interested in making any trouble for you. I want to help!"

Yet another glance passed between the two adults. "I'm not sure that's a good idea, child," Gerda said placatingly.

Anna's pout turned into a full-fledged glower, which was surprisingly effective considering her age. She raised her foot, ready to stomp it down in anger and frustration, before she suddenly thought better of it. This was not the time to appear to be throwing a tantrum. She needed to be taken seriously, not dismissed as some foolish child. So instead, she merely took a step forward into the room and closed the door behind her.

"Why not? This is my sister and my family we're talking about here. You're trying to find out the truth. Well, I want to know too. Nobody will tell me anything, no matter how often I ask. So if they won't give me answers, maybe I'll just have to find them myself. But wouldn't it be better if the three of us all worked together?"

Kai considered her for a moment before speaking. "Anna, we've been carefully observing and prodding your mother and father for three years, and we still barely know anything. If you say that they won't answer your questions either, then I'm not sure how much help you can really be."

"For starters, I can tell you that Elsa has been out of her room at least four times that I know of. In addition to the two you already know about, she was out one day in March last year, when the _Voloe _was supposed to have had its maiden voyage. And there was another time before that, during the winter. I'm pretty sure she visited my room that day, while Marie and I were out playing in the snow."

Kai and Gerda stared at her, dumbstruck. "H-How do you...?"

Anna crossed her arms and set her jaw stubbornly. "I'll tell you everything I know and how I know it, but only if you agree that the three of us are in this together. And if you agree, that means no secrets among us – not about this. This has to be about uncovering the secrets, not keeping them."

"Anna, you need to understand something," Kai said calmly and patiently. "Most of what we have are just educated guesses and informed speculation. We could be completely wrong about any of it. In fact, I'd wager that we probably are wrong about a good deal of it. But that also means that we really don't know the motivations for King Agdar's actions.

"It's entirely possible that the drastic cuts he made in the palace staff were an attempt on his part to keep these secrets (whatever they may be) hidden. If that's the case, and he finds out that we're prying into them, then there's a very real chance he might send both of us away as well."

"He wouldn't get rid of you, Kai. He'd never be able to run this place without you. And Mama wouldn't let him send Gerda away."

"Don't be so sure about that," Gerda cautioned. "Consider everything he's already done. Would you have ever thought he'd do any of those things either?"

Anna appeared to give this serious thought. Then her face lit up as she smiled. "All the more reason you need me! If Father does find out about any of this, then I'll say it was all my idea. You can say that you were only playing along to humor me, but that you were never really serious about any of it. I might get in trouble, but he can't very well fire me. And I really do believe that he would hate himself if he had to let either of you go, to the point that he would be willing to accept that excuse if it meant keeping you both."

Kai gave Anna an appraising look that also bore with it unlooked-for admiration. "You know, Gerda, she may just have a point."

Gerda shook her head. "I still don't like it."

"Look," Anna replied in her most sensible tone of voice, "I've been searching for answers on my own for these last three years. Whether we help each other or not, I'm going to keep looking. So the only thing that changes if you agree to work together is that we all get to share a few more pieces of the puzzle. Isn't that what we all want?"

After a moment, the old woman nodded. "Yes, I suppose so. But you need to be careful, Anna. Even if you're right and you could protect us if we're discovered, it would still mean that we would never get another answer ever again. The secrets would be locked down tighter than ever. So you mustn't raise suspicions. It's less about asking questions than about piecing together little tidbits here and there."

Now it was Anna's turn to nod. "Oh, I know that. Besides, like I already said, my questions never get answered anyway."

"Well then," Kai declared with a smile, "it looks like our little secret society has itself a new member." He bent down onto one knee and held out his hand.

Anna started to reach out, but then hesitated. Lifting her eyes, she pinned Kai with her steady scrutiny. "No secrets?" she asked.

"No secrets," Kai promised solemnly.

The princess looked up at Gerda. Still a little reluctantly, the older woman nodded. "No secrets."

Anna took Kai's hand then and shook it. "Now," he said with obvious curiosity, "weren't you going to tell us how you knew about Elsa's little excursions?"

She shrugged. "I was sitting outside her room when she came back. I was supposed to be on board the _Voloe_, you see, so she wasn't expecting me. And when I found out I'd been talking to an empty room, I got really angry.

"We had a fight. Well, mostly it was just me, I guess. But before it was over, Elsa did confess that it was the third time she'd left her room. Based on when she said the other two had happened, I finally realized that it had to have been her who'd moved the two dolls on my nightstand that winter's day. So that means the first one would probably have been the one that Gerda saw. It would have been... late autumn, two years ago?"

Gerda nodded thoughtfully. "That sounds about right."

"And you said that Elsa was afraid of you," Kai prodded. "What makes you think that?"

"She said so during the argument. She said that she only left her room when she thought I wouldn't be around, because she was afraid that she might run into me. I couldn't get her to say why."

Anna appeared to stop and consider her own words carefully. "Of course, I was in her room with her on her birthday last year. And she did seemed a little scared at first, but that didn't last. In fact, it wasn't long before she seemed really happy. Then like you said, she's been talking to me through the door these last few months. Not a lot, really, but some; certainly more than she used to. So if she was afraid of me, for whatever reason, do you think maybe she's finally getting over it?"

"We really don't know," Kai answered honestly. "But from some things that your mother said to Gerda, it's certainly a possibility. At least the queen seems to be hoping for as much."

A flash of hope flickered across Anna's face. She hadn't dared to even let herself really consider the possibility before this moment. Still, if her mother was thinking the same thing... Could it really be true? Was Elsa finally beginning to overcome her fears, or whatever it was that was keeping her in her room? Was there a chance that she could be reunited with her sister again soon? Just the thought made her feel like she could float up off the floor with happiness.

Then another thought occurred to her, and she quickly grew serious again. "Now I have a question for the two of you," she stated matter of factly.

Kai nodded. "Of course. What is it?"

"When I overheard you talking earlier, you said something that confused me." Her eyes kept darting back and forth between their two faces, watching intently for any reaction. "Gerda said that, on the night before Father ordered the closing of the castle gates, there was another change. And she made it sound like the change somehow involved me. What was it?"

Both adults suddenly went stone-faced. "You mean you don't know?" asked Kai.

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking," she replied quite reasonably.

Kai looked up at Gerda. Gerda, however, barely moved – except that her eyes, ever so briefly, darted to one of Anna's pigtails.

Anna, alert for the slightest reaction, caught the quick glance. She looked down at her right braid. "My hair?" she asked. "But I started braiding it two years ago, not three."

"It's... it's not the braid, dear," Gerda said quietly.

"Then what?"

Gerda did not answer. Neither did Kai. The glare returned to Anna's face. "You just promised," she said with as much determination as she could put into her voice. "You said..."

"We know," Kai sighed. "It's just that we never thought..." He paused, then straightened his shoulders and looked Anna squarely in the eyes.

"Anna, where did you get that pale streak in your hair?"

"Streak?" she asked, obviously bewildered. "I didn't get it anywhere. It's always been that way."

Kai closed his eyes. Anna looked at him, confusion plain on her face. Then she turned to Gerda, who looked back at her with such pity, it almost frightened her. Taking a deep, shaky breath, the woman spoke.

"No, Anna. You never had that stripe before that night. That was what changed."

Anna stared at Gerda, unable to believe her ears. "But that... that can't be true. I know it. As long as I can remember, that's just the way it's always been. I was born with it." She looked at Kai, expecting to see agreement in his face.

She did not.

She felt her hands beginning to tremble. Turning from one to the other, her confusion mounting higher and higher, she spoke again in a quavering tone. "I was! Wasn't I? Stop joking around. This isn't funny."

There was no sign of laughter in their features. There were no smiles. There were no words of denial.

"Please be joking," Anna pleaded in a tiny little voice.


	36. Dreams I: Love and Fear

"Anna?" The queen came around the corner and stopped. Crossing her arms and lowering her head, she unconsciously mimicked the stern posture that Nanny had always preferred to adopt when scolding the girls. The smile on her face, however, quite thoroughly ruined the effect. "Yes, I knew I'd find you here."

"What is it, Mama?" Anna asked innocently.

"What it is, is past your bedtime," Ellinor replied with amused sternness.

"But Elsa and I are talking," Anna explained, trying her best not to sound petulant.

"I know. That's the only reason why it's _past_ your bedtime. You should have been in bed half an hour ago."

"But..."

"Come along now, Anna," her mother said, putting just enough authority into her voice to make it clear that there would be no more debate. "Besides, look at it this way... Just think about how much you'll have to talk about tomorrow."

Rolling her eyes, Anna picked herself up off the floor. Turning to face the door, she laid one hand lightly against it. "Good night, Elsa. Sleep well."

"You too, Anna. Pleasant dreams."

As Anna walked over to join her mother, Ellinor called out, "You should be getting to sleep soon yourself, young lady."

"I will, Mother." The smile could be heard quite plainly in Elsa's voice. "See you for lessons tomo-o-orrow." The yawn was just as audible as well.

"Good night, sweetheart."

"Good night."

The queen then walked with Anna back to her room. She had already turned back the bed and laid out the nightclothes. She waited patiently while her daughter changed. Then, once Anna had climbed up onto the mattress, she pulled the covers up over her chest and began tucking them in around her neck and shoulders.

Anna started to squirm. "You don't need to do that, Mother," she grumbled. "I'm growing up, you know?"

"Oh, are you?" Ellinor asked playfully.

"Well, I'm eight years old now. I mean, you don't tuck Elsa in any more, do you?"

The queen was just able to hide how much those words, so guilelessly spoken, still managed to sting. No, she hadn't tucked Elsa in for years now. Her older daughter had been so frightened of physical contact after the incident with Anna, that it had simply been out of the question. By the time Elsa had recovered enough to allow her parents to touch her again, that nightly parental affection seemed to have silently fallen by the wayside.

"Well, Elsa is three years older than you," she said to Anna, and hoped her daughter hadn't picked up on the momentary pang of regret she had accidentally caused.

"I just mean that I'm not a little girl anymore," Anna clarified. And yet her stubborn pout reminded Ellinor so forcefully of her daughter's younger years that she had to laugh.

Bending low so that their noses nearly touched, the queen looked into her daughter's brilliant blue eyes and whispered, "You will always be my little girl."

Anna nearly went cross-eyed trying to focus on her mother's face, and try as she might, she couldn't keep herself from giggling. "Okay, I suppose you can keep tucking me in. You know, for a little while longer."

"Thank you," Ellinor replied. Then she kissed Anna on the tip of her nose, brushed a lock of hair back from the side of her face, and smiled down at her beautiful girl. "Good night, sweetheart."

As she straightened up and started to turn towards the door, Anna called out to her. "Mama, may I ask you something?"

The queen stopped and turned back to the bed. This was always potentially tricky. Anna had too often asked questions that she simply could not answer. But of course, any young girl had plenty of perfectly innocent questions too. Well, there was only one way to find out. "What is it, dear?"

The nervous look on her daughter's face immediately put Ellinor on her guard. She watched warily as Anna seemed to work through the best way to ask whatever was on her mind. Finally, she spoke. "This is probably going to sound a little crazy, but... how long have I had the streak in my hair?"

Ellinor froze for an instant. How could she possibly answer that? How could she _not_ answer it? She couldn't tell the truth, because how would she explain the blonde streak mysteriously appearing nearly three years ago. She could try to avoid the question, but it was clear that something had already made Anna suspicious. Evasion would only confirm that there was something to be suspicious of. What to do...

"Why would you ask that, sweetheart?" she asked with a smile. When all else fails, she thought, stall.

"I don't know," Anna said, shrugging beneath the covers. "It's just something I thought of the other day. I mean, it's pretty unusual, isn't it, to have one lock of hair a different color like this? So I started wondering if something happened when I was younger that might have caused it. I couldn't remember anything, but if I was young enough when it happened, I suppose I might not. Anyway, I thought I'd ask."

The whole time her daughter had been talking, Ellinor had been thinking furiously, trying to find the safest way out of this dilemma. Now Anna was looking at her expectantly, and still all she could come up with were a selection of bad options. It looked like she would simply have to make her choice and deal with the consequences.

"Your hair's always been that way, Anna," she replied. "I have no idea why, but it was like that even when you were a baby."

Anna grinned and seemed to relax. Ellinor hadn't even realized before then how tense the girl had been. "Thanks, Mama. I was just curious, and now I know."

"You're welcome, dear. Now get some sleep."

"I will. G'night."

"Good night, sweetheart."

The queen crossed the room, stepped out into the hall, and pulled the door closed behind her. Then she turned and headed to the sitting room, where she knew Agdar was waiting. She would have to tell him about this. If Anna were to ask him, he would need to confirm her story. Otherwise, Anna would have fresh cause to become mistrustful again, and that could become a problem. Yes, they would certainly have to take care to...

Ellinor stumbled. She sagged against the nearest wall, her breath coming in great gasps. She was shaking. The world around her had suddenly become very blurry and unsteady. No, she was unsteady, and the blurring was because of the tears filling her eyes.

She had just lied to her daughter. Not a partial truth. Not a selective omission or a careful dodge. She had simply lied. She had never lied to either of her daughters before, not like this. And now she was already making plans to cover that lie, to repeat it and, if necessary, expand upon it.

The queen turned and, still leaning heavily against the wall, staggered on down the passage. The tears were so thick, she felt like she was going to choke on them. She couldn't really see clearly where she was going. Only the many years she'd spent walking these halls led her to the sitting room door, which was mercifully not far away.

She leaned against the door frame, sobs racking her slender body. She heard, rather than saw, her husband turn at the sound. "Ellinor?" There was a blur of motion that must have been Agdar springing to his feet. "Ellinor!"

The next second, he was standing before her, and she collapsed into his arms. He held her tightly against his chest, stroking her hair. "What is it? What happened?" But she couldn't get enough air into her lungs to speak. She just clung to him, wanting to lose herself in his embrace, wanting to hide forever from this horrible situation.

Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted up into his strong arms. He carried her across the room and began to lay her down upon the settee, but she wrapped her arms around his neck and wouldn't let go. The comfort she needed right now could not be found in soft cushions. She needed him beside her, holding her.

Fortunately, he knew her well enough that she didn't need to speak for him to understand this. So he set her down in a sitting position and then, without ever breaking contact for even a moment, slid himself next to her and pulled her close to his side. He wrapped his arms about her shoulders, rested his head atop hers, and tried his best to shield her from whatever had caused her such terrible anguish.

Eventually, her shaking subsided and her wrenching sobs gave way to only occasional jerky spasms. Finally able to breathe normally again, she at last could put her pain into words.

"Oh, Agdar. I think this is going to kill me. I hate what this family is becoming, what it's turning me into."

"Shh." Even now, he continued to hold her and protect her. "You are only what you have always been – a fiercely devoted mother, my beloved wife, and everything good that holds this family together."

Ellinor shook her head. "I'm a liar, Agdar. I looked Anna straight in the eyes and I lied to her. I've never felt so ashamed in my life."

Slightly confused, he nevertheless tried to reassure her. "Ellinor, my dear, it isn't the end of the world to tell a little white lie to your child. I'd say it's almost an inevitable part of being a parent."

"I'm not talking about a little lie, Agdar. This was... It was..." She trembled in his arms, and he squeezed her tightly to him once again. Then, in fits and starts, she explained to him everything that had happened as she was putting Anna to bed. When she finished, the only noise to be heard was the quiet crackling of the flames in the fireplace.

"I don't know how I can continue living like this," she said at last. "Keeping all these secrets was bad enough, but this..." Another shudder ran through her.

"I know, my love," Agdar whispered into her hair. "We knew this wouldn't be easy. And yet, what other choice do we have? If even the memory of magic is a danger to Anna, what else can we do but keep her in the dark, no matter how much pain it may cause us?"

"There has to be a better way. There has to be something else we can do."

"The only solution I can see is for Elsa to finally control the magic, to the point where she can feel confident enough to come out again. If things could return to normal that way, then I think most of the questions would be forgotten. But aside from offering her love and encouragement, I don't know how to help her do that. Neither of us understands her powers any better than she does."

"What about the trolls?" Ellinor sniffed. "They know magic. Couldn't they help Elsa?"

Agdar thought carefully before replying. "I don't know," he said at last, "but I suspect not. Theirs is a different sort of magic. If they'd had advice to offer, I think they would have done so when we last visited them.

"Still, there are encouraging signs. After all, Elsa has been talking to Anna, hasn't she? And when I went to see her the other day, she wasn't even wearing her gloves. That says to me that she must be feeling more sure of herself. Take heart, Ellinor. We may only have to endure a little while longer. Once Elsa rejoins the family again, reunites with Anna again, I'm certain everything will be just fine."

He could see that his wife remained sullen and unconvinced. "But if it will make you feel better, I will go visit the trolls. After all, it couldn't hurt to ask."

At last, a glimmer of hope sparked in her eyes as she lifted her head to look up at him. "Oh, thank you, Agdar. I know it may not help at all, but at least we'll know we've tried. I'll come with you."

The king shook his head. "No, one of us needs to stay here with the girls. Besides, it would be more difficult to explain both of us mysteriously disappearing at the same time. If you remain here, you should be able to cover my absence should it be discovered. Even so, I'll need a few days to make preparations so I can hopefully slip out without being noticed. I think I could probably go the night after next."

Ellinor reached up and clasped his hand, which was still resting on her shoulder. "Thank you," she repeated again softly. She even managed a small smile, which he returned lovingly.

The queen suddenly released her husband's hand in order to cover her mouth, which had opened wide in a gaping yawn. The night's emotions had left her physically drained. "I'm sorry," she said once it had passed. "I know we had planned to sit up together for a while, but I'm simply exhausted. I hope you don't mind, but I think I need to get to bed."

"Of course," he replied with understanding. "Actually, that sounds like an excellent idea to me as well."

So saying, Agdar stood and helped his wife to her feet. Once he'd extinguished the fire, he offered her his arm, which she accepted gratefully. Then the King and Queen of Arendelle retired to their bedchambers for some much needed sleep.

• • •

Sleep, however, had not yet found Anna. She lay in bed, her mind running round and round in circles, trying to make sense of mysteries that seemed unfathomably large to her. Despite her boastful bragging about how she was growing up, she had never before felt smaller.

She'd known it was a risk to ask her mother such a direct question about her hair. She hadn't forgotten Kai and Gerda's admonishments. In fact, she'd bitten her tongue for several days now just to keep from posing that very question. It had constantly plagued her thoughts, however. How could she possibly misremember something like that?

The more she had tried to make sense of it, the more frightened she had become. At last she had decided that she needed to take the chance. If it was only her memory that was faulty, then maybe it was just another symptom of whatever had changed her hair. Either way, she had to know. So she had asked.

At first, the answer had been comforting. After all, her mother had confirmed what she herself thought she remembered. This seemed like a strong argument in favor of her own sanity. The more she thought about it, however, the less reassuring it became. It meant that someone was not telling her the truth. She tried not to think of it as lying to her. Perhaps they were simply mistaken. Kai and Gerda had said that they could be wrong about a lot of things, hadn't they? But then, that had been because they were having to guess based on hints and whispers. Something like this didn't seem at all the same.

On the other hand, would her mother intentionally... mislead her? She knew her parents were keeping secrets; they had not hidden that fact. Would they really take it a step further, though? If so, how did she know they hadn't already done the same before now? Her mind drew back from the idea. She didn't want to let herself believe it.

In the end, after at least half an hour of chasing her own thoughts but getting nowhere, she was only able to arrive at one solid (though not entirely satisfying) conclusion. If her parents said that she'd always had the streak, then that was the story she'd need to stick to as well. If she pressed the matter and voiced her doubts, it would only put them on their guard and make it harder than ever to get anything useful out of them. So if anyone ever asked, that would be the answer she'd give. Besides, for all she knew, it might still very well be the truth.

She rolled onto her side, hoping it might ease the churning in her stomach. Part of her couldn't help but wonder if uncovering the truth was really such a good idea after all. But no, these secrets had to be what was keeping her and Elsa apart. She would gladly endure far more than this anxious discomfort if it meant she could once again be reunited with her big sister.

Happy thoughts of that long hoped for day kept her company as she finally drifted off to sleep.

Darkness surrounded her. She could barely see anything. It was as if her eyes were closed, but try as she might, she could not open them. In fact, she couldn't move at all. Her body wouldn't respond when she tried to lift her head or even twitch a finger. Everything felt thick, heavy, and almost numb.

Though she couldn't get her muscles to obey her, she nevertheless experienced a sense of movement. It was a familiar rhythmic sensation, but her mind seemed as sluggish as her body and she couldn't quite place it. It wasn't unpleasant, but it felt so distant that it barely would have mattered even had it been exquisitely painful. Because there was only one sensation that was absolutely clear to her. Only one thing that felt sharp and immediate and certain.

She was cold. Absolutely, bitterly, deathly cold. It was a cold that went beyond chattering teeth and violent shivers, an iciness that no living person was ever meant to experience.

The rolling, rocking motion ceased, although she barely noticed. Now it felt as if she were floating, drifting along as if borne upon a slow moving river. There were noises, too, though her befuddled brain could not make any sense of them. The frigid feeling was only getting stronger. More than anything, she just wanted to be warm again. Perhaps if she just let herself sink beneath the flowing current, she would find warmth there. It would be so easy to just slip down... down... down...

She felt something brush her forehead – the first thing she'd really felt besides the cold. It was hard and rough, yet also surprisingly gentle. It lingered there for a moment, then slipped away as the far off sounds resumed. The bitter frigidity, which had momentarily receded along with that touch, engulfed her again, and she was once again being pulled under.

Suddenly the touch returned, if only for a brief moment. This time as it pulled away, it felt like it took something with it. Anna had no idea what it might have been. Her muddled mind still was incapable of anything so taxing. Yet something seemed to be holding the cold at bay. It was still there, but it was no longer advancing. She didn't feel like she was on the verge of succumbing to it, but neither could she push it back. It was a precarious stalemate, and she felt like she teetered on that edge forever.

Then she felt the same pressure on her forehead again. It remained as coarse and solid as stone. Yet when it touched her skin, it was as light and delicate as a kiss. Suddenly, she felt warmth spreading outward from that spot. It flowed over her and through her, making every inch of her body tingle briefly, like a too cold hand that is suddenly plunged into hot water. Even that momentary discomfort faded almost immediately, however, and all that was left was an overwhelming sensation of peace, safety, and contentment.

She felt herself beginning to drift downward once again. This time, however, she knew that the only thing that awaited her there was a deep and blissful slumber. She finally allowed herself to fall into it gratefully, a beatific smile upon her face.

Anna shifted beneath the sheets. Her eyes opened slowly, languidly. It felt so wonderfully warm beneath her covers, and the night was just chilly enough outside her snug cocoon to make the difference all the more delicious. She felt the smile on her face, and found that she wasn't sure whether it had appeared there as she contemplated the comforts of her bed or if had lingered there as she'd drifted up from her dream.

She could still remember it, which was unusual because she rarely remembered her dreams. Not that there was much there to remember, of course. Such a strange dream, though. There had been no sights to speak of, and only the vaguest of sounds. The only real sensations had been those peculiar touches and the overwhelming sense of...

The young princess shivered and dug herself deeper into the blankets. Best not to think about it. That touch, though... It had been so peculiar, especially that last time. It felt like a rock that had been baking out in the summer sun had ever so lightly pressed against her. She wiggled one hand out from under the bedding and stroked her head in the same place where she'd felt the touch in her dream.

As she did so, she suddenly realized that it would have brushed over the exact spot on her head where her blond streak sprouted from her scalp. She stared at her hand, a pale and ghostly shape in the dim moonlight. Then, she laughed quietly to herself.

Clearly, she had been worrying far too much about this new mystery of hers just before she'd drifted off. Her overactive imagination, freed from its conscious fetters, had combined her anxieties with half-forgotten fables and the brisk night air, and thus turned her suddenly puzzling pale streak into the product of a stone troll's kiss. If her dreams were always that silly, then she didn't feel at all upset that they so rarely remained with her come the morning.

Still smiling, she slipped her arm back beneath the covers and wiggled around until she found a nice, comfortable position, once again lying on her side. This time, however, she was facing her little bedside table. And though her eyelids were already growing heavy, she still focused briefly on the round flower pot and the two small objects that leaned against it.

"Good night, Elsa," she whispered. "Good night, Marie. Pleasant dreams."

The two dolls smiled back, watching over their friend as she soon found her way into a peaceful and uninterrupted slumber.

* * *

**A/N: Those of you keeping count might be wondering about the "Dreams" (plural) in the chapter title. Well, this one was running way long on me. So rather than keeping you all waiting for a single extra-long chapter, I decided to make it a multi-parter. Coming soon: "Dreams II: Beauty and Danger"**


	37. Dreams II: Beauty and Danger

Elsa was standing in a dark chamber or cavern. Well, at least the walls were effectively hidden in a blue-black murk. But the ground beneath her feet seemed to be almost glowing white. She looked down and gasped.

She wasn't standing on any ordinary floor, not even the rough hewn one of a rocky cave. She was standing on a giant snowflake that had to be nearly ten feet across from one edge to the other. Nor was it the only one. Six-sided crystals of every conceivable shape and size surrounded her. They crisscrossed and overlapped haphazardly, yet there was no mistaking one undeniable pattern.

The huge flakes formed a wandering, meandering path that stretched off into the unknowable distance.

After only a moment's hesitation, Elsa began to walk. It seemed like the only sensible thing to do. She followed the glowing white road, not daring to step off of it even in those places where it narrowed to a chain of individual crystals barely wide enough for her to stand on. Despite their moon-like shine, the snowflakes illuminated nothing to either side of the path. Either the material that made up the rest of the floor reflected no light whatsoever, or there simply was no rest of the floor. She was unwilling to take the risk in order to find out one way or the other.

Since there was nothing else to see, Elsa found her eyes drawn downward to the pearlescent ice beneath her feet. Each crystal tile was a unique work of art. Some were nearly solid sheets of ice, but with ridges and grooves around the edges that would suddenly turn inwards, stretching back to converge near the center. Others appeared to be fragile, feathery traceries – six symmetrical arms radiating outward from a central hub, but with infinitely intricate branches up and down their lengths. They looked like they would surely crack under the slightest pressure. Yet there were a few places where she had no choice but to trust their delicate webwork with her full weight. They didn't so much as vibrate when she stepped across them.

She was so mesmerized by the endless variations and the geometrical beauty that the passage of time and distance went completely unheeded. She felt no fatigue, no impatience. She thought she could continue down this path forever and never get tired, neither physically nor spiritually. Every step was like an epiphany. Every new pattern only made her feel more alive.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Elsa's head jerked up at the sound of the voice. A short way ahead of her, the path ended, with the last few crystals climbing up the base of a wall that could barely be made out otherwise. But between her and that terminus stood an all too familiar figure.

"You again," she said aloud. She'd meant for it to sound bold and defiant, dismissive and unimpressed. Instead, it had come out more weary and wary.

Her dark self smiled, one corner of her mouth crooking upwards again the way it always did. "I'm glad to see you remember me. I was beginning to think you must have forgotten."

"Very nearly," Elsa admitted. "You were – are – just a dream, after all."

"Oh, I am, am I?" The other girl's amusement colored her voice and lent a dark sparkle to her eyes. "And do you often tell yourself that you're dreaming whilst within a dream?"

Elsa was determined not to let herself become flustered. "Not often, no. But it has happened once or twice. I will admit, it's a rather peculiar feeling. Given how peculiar things feel at this particular moment, though, I'd say that would be just about right."

"Yes, we can be very peculiar, can't we?" The voice spoke right into Elsa's ear. She turned to find herself, somehow unsurprisingly, nose to nose with... herself. The familiar face beneath the unfamiliar hair grinned back at her broadly.

"What do you want?" Elsa sighed.

"Me?" The voice and the face were the epitome of bruised innocence. "How can I possibly want anything? This is your dream, after all. What do _you_ want?"

"At the moment, a good strong pinch so that maybe I could wake up."

Her doppelganger reached out and obligingly tweaked her arm quite sharply.

"Ow!" Elsa exclaimed, rubbing the spot.

"Well, it seems that didn't quite work out after all, did it? But now you have to ask yourself: did you really feel that pain, or did you just dream that you felt it?"

Elsa rolled her eyes. Then she turned her back on her annoying twin and walked the few remaining strides until she reached the very end of the road. Even this close, she could not see the wall clearly. As she looked from side to side, it seemed she could almost catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye. But the minute she turned to focus on it, it vanished.

Figuring she had nothing to lose, she reached out her hand to where she knew the wall must be. There was definitely something there, because her fingers refused to move forward any further. Still, she could get no sense of the surface. It was neither warm nor cold, neither smooth nor rough, neither hard nor yielding. The only appreciable aspect that it had was its there-ness.

_This has got to be a dream_, she told herself yet again. _Which means that no amount of common sense is going to get me out of it. So I might as well play along._

She turned around and leaned back against the wall-that-almost-wasn't. The other her was now sitting down on one of the snowflakes. The path branched at that point, only to come back together a short distance further along, so there was a gap in the middle of the road. Her legs were dangling over the edge into that hole. The two girls stared at each other, one still smiling, the other inscrutable.

"What should I call you?" Elsa asked at last. "What is your name?"

"Hmm. Well, if this is just a dream, that means I must just be a part of your own mind. The smart and clever part, I'm sure. So I suppose that means you should call me Elsa!"

"No, I don't think so," she said, shaking her head. "It's confusing enough that we have the same face."

"Well then, since I'm apparently a figment of your imagination, I suppose it's up to you to choose a name for me."

Elsa considered this for a moment. She wasn't particularly happy with the idea. If she came up with the name, then it felt like she'd be in some way taking responsibility for this... whatever she was. You generally don't give a name to something that you'd be just as happy to see go away. You name something that you care for, that you'd have reason to call out to. It would be like naming a pet.

On the other hand, a name would allow for some distance between them. She wouldn't have to think of this girl as "the other me" all the time. Instead, she would be able to think of her as...

"Fare," Elsa declared.

"Fare? Fah-ruh." Her twin rolled the word around in her mouth, as if tasting it. "Norwegian for danger?" A wide grin split her face. "I like that!"

"Why am I not surprised?" Elsa muttered. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, she decided to make one more attempt at getting a straight answer, though she had very little hope of succeeding. "So why am I here?"

"You've come here because you're hoping to find what you're looking for."

"And what would that be?"

"Answers, of course."

Elsa laughed. "Then clearly, I've come to the wrong place."

Fare rocked backwards, looking up and around at the darkness that surrounded them both. "Maybe," she conceded. "Or maybe you're just asking the wrong questions."

The princess scoffed. "I'd ask you what questions I ought to be asking, but I somehow doubt you'd give a useful answer to that question either."

Fare's lopsided grin returned. "She can learn!"

"Yes, I can see how that would come as a surprise, particularly if you're supposed to be my teacher."

"I really don't understand why you're being so touchy," Fare commented offhandedly. "I mean, all I've done so far is try to help you."

Elsa opened her mouth, prepared to deliver another pithy rejoinder, when she actually stopped to think over that statement. Might it not actually be true? After all, hadn't she had the revelation about her ice magic after their last talk? If she allowed herself to believe any of this, then Fare had steered her in that direction. Yes, she'd done it as cryptically as she possibly could have, but still.

"Why should I believe you?" she inquired. Her tone, though not exactly friendly, was at least less confrontational than it had been a moment ago. It was the sound of someone who was looking for a reason to trust.

"Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," was Fare's sing-song response. Naturally, though, she couldn't just leave it at that. "Ask me a question, and I'll ask you one back. Then, will you lie to yourself?"

Suddenly, Elsa saw the trail of hints that had been laid before her as clearly as she could see the crystalline path upon which she stood. Fare had tried to _help_ her by getting her to think about ice. Elsa had spent months _looking for answers _as she struggled to _learn_ this new skill_._ But now... well, it wasn't exactly that she was _lying to herself _so much as that she was not being true to herself. She had turned away once again from everything that Fare had encouraged her to embrace during their last meeting.

"This is because I've stopped my practices, isn't it?" she asked meekly.

For once, the other girl did not reply. Instead, she merely looked back at Elsa expectantly, like a teacher waiting for her student to work her way through a particularly difficult problem.

"I'm sorry," Elsa admitted. "It was all my fault. I got careless, and Father nearly caught me. As it is, he saw me without my gloves on, and now he thinks that I'm able to rein in my powers. But I can't! I still need more time. The problem is that now I'm afraid to even try any more, because what if he finds out? I just know he wouldn't approve, and he'd be so angry with me. I still remember that look on his face when I lost control on my birthday. I mean yes, he apologized for the way he acted, but that doesn't mean that his disappointment wasn't real. And that was just an accident. If he found out I was doing magic on purpose, I don't know what might happen..."

Without saying a word, Fare rose to her feet. She walked forward, right through the gap in the path into which her feet had been dangling only seconds earlier, as if it were now solid as stone. She closed the distance between them until she stood only an arm's length away. Then she stared at Elsa, scrutinizing her with the same look that most people reserved for something foul stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

Suddenly, she pulled back her hand, palm open wide to slap Elsa across the face.

Elsa cringed away from the blow, raising her hands in an attempt to shield herself. Only after several seconds had passed did she realize that the hand had not fallen. Cautiously she turned back, peering between her still upraised arms to see what had happened.

Fare stood in exactly the same position she had held before Elsa had recoiled. However, a pillar of ice had somehow sprouted straight up from the giant snowflake below them, and it now encased the dark-haired girl's wrist and forearm, effectively immobilizing her swing. This did not seem to alarm Fare in the slightest. In fact, she was examining the column critically, her eyebrows raised ever so slightly. Without taking her eyes away from the shaft of ice, she spoke.

"Why are you so afraid of what ordinary people think of you? Clearly, you have little reason to fear that they might hurt you. What is it that you think would happen if they found out your little secret?"

"It's... it's not like that," Elsa stammered. Then, remembering that she might as well be arguing with herself here in this place, she sighed. "Alright, yes, I suppose it is. But I'm not afraid that they might hurt me. Even though I don't know if I could actually defend myself like this in the real world, that isn't the problem at all.

"I'm scared that they might fear me. Or hate me. Is it really so wrong, to want to be liked? But if I can't control my powers, then they would have every right to fear me. If I can't keep myself from doing again what I once did to Anna... Well, there's a word for someone like that, for a person who brings pain and suffering indiscriminately to those around her."

She wrapped her arms tightly around herself and turned her face away, as if warding off another oncoming blow. The next word came out like the foulest profanity, one that she was embarrassed to even find upon her lips.

"Monster."

She felt Fare's arm drape across her shoulders. How she had freed it from the ice, Elsa did not know. In this nonsensical dreamscape, it hardly mattered. When the mysterious girl spoke, however, her voice was devoid of the haughty arrogance that normally colored it. It was warm and kind and filled with understanding.

"Did you ever stop to think that, to the so-called monsters, the normal people are the wicked ones? How do we know that the imagined horrors of our collective nightmares would not simply prefer to be left alone, in peace? But because they are different, because they are special, they are persecuted and pursued and never given that chance. Is it so hard to understand how, after being so mercilessly harassed all their lives, they might finally strike back at those who have tormented them? Can they be blamed for lashing out at those who would not allow them a moment's respite?"

"Not everyone is like that," Elsa answered. "I choose to believe that most people, in their hearts, are basically good."

"Then why worry about what they think? If ordinary people are so wonderful, why are you afraid of how they might react?"

"I wish you wouldn't do that," Elsa said.

"Do what?"

"Talk about 'ordinary people' as if it's some sort of insult. My mother and father are both ordinary, by your definition. So is my sister. That doesn't mean I love them any less, and I won't have you belittling them."

Fare paused before she spoke again. "You didn't answer my question. If you think that... people are basically kind and forgiving, then why should you fear how they might react?"

Elsa considered this for a long time before she finally gave her reply. "Because I'd like to think that I am a kind and forgiving person myself. And I'm terrified of me."

"Ah." The faintest touch of its usual smugness had crept back into the other voice, so much like her own otherwise. "And now we finally get to the real problem. What was it that Mother and Father used to tell us? People fear what they don't understand. You do not understand yourself, Elsa. You still do not comprehend your abilities and what they can do, and so you fear them.

"Which means, of course, that the only way you can ever hope to overcome your fear is to learn who you truly are. So yes, you are here because you stopped practicing. You are here because you are afraid to move forward, but also because you're afraid to remain where you are.

"In the end, I suppose, that's what it all comes down to. You can continue to hide in fear, knowing that nothing will ever change. Or you can take a chance and try to push ahead despite your fears, knowing that if you succeed, _everything_ will change.

"The choice is yours, Elsa. It always has been. It always will be. It's a choice you will have to make every day for the rest of your life."

She recognized the truth in those words. How could she not? It was as if they had come from the very depths of her soul. So now she had a decision before her. Whatever she chose could very well decide the course that she would follow for all the years yet to come.

"Thank you, Fare," she said, and she turned to smile at the enigmatic apparition.

Except that the other girl was not there. Elsa spun completely around, looking for her only companion upon this icy road. Then she noticed that even the road had vanished. All that remained was the single crystal upon which she now stood. As she watched, it too began to shrink, forcing her towards the center as the edges inexorably melted away. In a matter of seconds, there would be nothing left.

_The choice is yours._ The words came back to her once more. She had to decide. Would she stay where she was, afraid to move, waiting until the darkness consumed everything around her? Or would she take a chance and continue her journey forward, in hopes that one day she might find the light once again?

The snowflake was barely large enough for her to stand on now. There was no more time. Whatever she was going to do, she had to do it now. She inhaled deeply, feeling her shoulders straighten as her lungs filled with air. Then, as the last bit of ice disappeared beneath her feet, she lifted her right leg.

Looking straight ahead, Elsa stepped off into the black unknown.

"I knew you could do it."

The familiar voice came out of the darkness like the sun suddenly exploding over the rim of the world. In an instant, the inky blackness was gone, and Elsa found herself standing amid the featureless whiteness where she'd had her first dreamlike encounter months ago. There was no path here, no guideposts to mark her trail, no way to even know which direction she should take.

But there was hope.

As she stood there, trying to come to grips with everything that had just happened, she looked about for the source of those last words. The voice had not been her own. Nor was it Fare's. And yet she was certain that she knew it. It was only because it had been so unexpected, particularly in this strange place, that she struggled to put a name to it.

When the realization finally hit her, it sent her staggering back a step. She redoubled her efforts, searching in every direction in a vain attempt at finding the speaker. Even if this was a dream, she would give anything to see the face that went along with that voice. At last, though she knew it was probably futile, she called out into the emptiness.

"Anna!"

From the infinite distance, the voice came again. It might have started out as a shout (it was impossible to tell), but it reached her ears as barely a whisper.

"I will be right here."

Elsa whirled on the spot. It had sounded like the words had come from that direction, though she couldn't be sure. Still, it was as good a direction as any other. Striding forward with purpose and determination, she set off on a journey that she could only hope would end in a too-long-delayed reunion with her sister.

_Wait for me, Anna,_ she thought. _I'm coming._

• • •

"Ellinor! Ellinor, wake up!"

The queen felt herself being shaken roughly, but it was a distant, disconnected sensation. It was the voice that finally penetrated through to her, that reached down and grasped at her. With a mighty effort, she turned towards that voice and fought her way slowly up from the heavy depths of her sleep.

Her eyes opened to see Agdar leaning over her, concern etched into every line of his face.

"Ellinor! Oh, thank heaven." He sat back heavily on his haunches. The hand that had been shaking her so insistently now moved to clutch at his heart. His eyes, pupils wide in the near darkness, stood out starkly against the skin of his face, which seemed to have been drained of all color. In short, the king looked terrified.

"What is it?" Ellinor asked muzzily, still not fully awake. "What's wrong? Has something happened?"

Agdar stared at her for a heartbeat, as if the words she had spoken were somehow incomprehensible to him. When he finally spoke, it seemed to take him a great deal of effort.

"You wouldn't wake up."

She glanced around the room. "Well, it is the middle of the night, Agdar," she said a little dryly. Suddenly, she shivered. And having starting shaking, she found that she could not stop. Only then did she take stock of her own situation.

She was drenched from head to toe in a cold sweat. The bedclothes were tangled about her as if she'd been thrashing in her sleep. Her pillow had been flung off the bed and lay on the floor several meters away. She looked again at her husband, her eyes now grown wide, and only then noticed the parallel red scratches across his neck.

"I've been trying to wake you for more than three minutes," he said. "You were having some sort of nightmare. At first, you were just tossing and turning, but then you started to flail about like mad. I tried to restrain you, to keep you from hurting yourself. Then you fought me, as though your very life depended on it.

"I was beginning to fear you would never wake up."

Ellinor just stared back at him, trying to make some sense of his story.

"Do you remember what you were dreaming?" he asked her with startling intensity. Clearly, he hoped the answer would help explain what he had just been through. Unfortunately, all she could do was shake her head.

"I don't remember anything," she said. "Just the sound of your voice calling my name, and then waking up here in bed. That's all."

Something about the look he gave her then – or more to the point, something about the way he turned away from her to hide his look – sent another violent shiver down her spine. "Agdar?" Pushing herself up on one elbow, she reached out with her other hand and turned his head to face her. Even so, his eyes were lowered and he would not meet her gaze. "Agdar, what aren't you telling me?"

She watched him visibly pulling himself together. Then at last, he raised his eyes to hers. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened," he said with great care, "though it is the first time it's ever been this bad. It doesn't occur all that often. At first, it was just the tossing and turning, and that would always subside after a minute or two. I never thought anything more of it than just an occasional bad dream.

"Then sometime during the last few years, it started to get a little worse. I've taken a few surprisingly forceful smacks from you in the middle of the night. But when I would call out your name, that seemed to be enough to get through to you, and you would calm down again. You would never wake up and you would never say anything about it the next morning. Since it didn't seem to be bothering you, and the only real consequence appeared to be a little bit of lost sleep on my part, I still didn't say anything. After all, what we've been going through would be reason enough to give anyone a few bad dreams now and then.

"But tonight..." He reached up and, with both of his hands, grasped the one of hers that was still pressed against his cheek. His gaze was now locked with hers, which was just as well. Words seemed to have failed him, but everything left unsaid was there to be read in his eyes.

She gently pulled her hand back toward her chest, and he followed it down until he lay beside her on the bed. Turning to face him, she ran her fingernails through his light auburn hair. "I'm sorry to have worried you," she said softly. "And I wish you had told me about this sooner. I suspect you're right, though. It's likely just the stress taking its toll. Tonight was probably only worse because of my little incident with Anna. Hopefully, it won't happen again."

He nodded once, then leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against hers. "I really don't mind a few sleepless nights. It's only the thought of losing you that I can't bear."

She smiled tenderly. "I'm not going anywhere, Agdar. I promise."

So saying, she rolled over and fitted her back against the curve of her husband's chest and thighs. His arm slipped beneath hers, and their fingers intertwined. She felt him kiss her once just behind her ear before he settled himself snuggly against her. After only a few minutes, she felt his breathing become slow and steady as he once again fell back to sleep.

Ellinor, however, found that sleep had now fled quite beyond her reach. For despite the fact that she could not remember a single thing about whatever nightmare had so violently plagued her that night, she found herself absolutely petrified at the prospect of facing it yet again.

When Agdar awoke the next morning, she made no mention of the sleepless hours she had spent staring off into the night.


	38. What We Believe

**A/N: I feel like I need to make something clear before we go any further. If I'm really going to attempt to take this story all the way through to the movie (and I would like nothing better than to pull that off), then I still have ten more years' worth of tale left to tell. That includes the daunting seven year gap between the second and third verses of "Snowman" (which, I'll be honest, kinda scares the crap out of me).**

**I point this out because some of the hints I've begun setting up in these last few chapters are things I plan to pay off over the long haul. I simply want to give everyone fair warning that, while I have answers to pretty much every question that you've been asking, it will take a while before all of them are revealed. I'm going for the slow burn on some of these. So I just don't want anyone to be expecting quick answers, only to be disappointed when they don't show up right away. But rest assured, they are coming…**

* * *

Agdar rode swiftly through the forest. The waxing moon provided just enough light for him to follow the grassy path between the trees. He had brought the map with him again on this night, but once it had guided him to the point on the edge of the woods where this trail emerged, it had hardly been necessary. Now, it was folded carefully and tucked inside his jacket for safekeeping.

He was not pushing his horse as hard as he had on that night nearly three years ago, but he did not dare tarry either. His absence during these dark hours might well go unnoticed. When the new day dawned, however, he would be looked for. At that point, even though Ellinor had remained behind for this express purpose, she would not be able to hide his disappearance for very long.

In a way, that was just as well as far as he was concerned. He did not want to linger long amid the trolls. It wasn't that he disliked them, exactly. The one and only time he had encountered them before, they had certainly been polite and respectful, and they had done absolutely nothing to cause offense. And yet, they had made him distinctly uncomfortable. He suspected that he knew why.

Agdar was a practical man. He preferred to deal with tangible truths and sensible facts, and had never allowed himself to indulge in flights of fancy. This pragmatism had generally served him well as King of Arendelle. When it came to dealing with his daughter's uncanny abilities, however, it failed him utterly. Magic like that was simply beyond his ability to understand.

That didn't mean he feared it, though he'd often cautioned Elsa that this was a common reaction to such things. He was a wise enough man to know that there was so much in the world that he did not understand, and fearing it all would serve no useful purpose. What it did mean, however, was that he did not know how to deal with it.

Ordinarily, when placed in such a position during the course of his duties, he could turn to his advisors to help educate him on those subjects for which his knowledge was lacking. There was no such person when it came to magic, however – at least none that he'd been able to find. This left him in a perpetual state of ignorance, and that unsettled him greatly. The unknown was one thing. The unknowable was another matter entirely.

So when he'd dealt with the trolls, whose very existence seemed to somehow be interwoven with strange magics, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. It hadn't made things any easier, of course, that Anna had been gravely injured at the time. And though he was still immensely grateful to the patriarch of the troll clan for everything he'd done to save her life, he nevertheless had rather hoped that would be the last time he'd have need of their assistance.

The evergreens of the foothills were beginning to thin out around him, giving way to gnarled and scrubby trunks that could only generously be called trees. Still, these overgrown shrubs found a way to cling to life upon these rocky slopes, no matter how much they had to twist and contort themselves in the process.

_Isn't that what we all do, though?_ the king thought to himself. _Each and every one of us either makes a place for ourselves in this world or else we find a place and make ourselves fit into it._ More and more these days, he felt like the latter. The throne had loomed over his life since the moment he'd been born. He had never truly felt comfortable with that destiny, but it had become his by the mere accident of his birth. So through the years, he had shaped himself into the man he was today – into everything that he believed a good and wise ruler ought to be, or at least as close to that ideal as he could manage.

Now it was his duty to make sure that Elsa would one day be ready to take the orb and scepter in his place. He didn't need to ask to know that she felt even more unprepared than he ever had. It was a daunting prospect for any young child, even under the best of circumstances. Elsa's unique situation clearly did not qualify for that description.

He would give almost anything to be able to help ease her burden. That was why he was here tonight, reining in his horse as he arrived at last at the edge of the troll's hollow.

Agdar left his steed near a patch of coarse mountain grass, hooking the reins over a low-hanging branch that would still allow the animal to graze a little if it so chose. After patting the horse's flank fondly, he turned and walked slowly into the center of the great circular depression.

Without the pressing urgency of an ailing daughter, the king found himself automatically wanting to fall back upon the formal rituals with which he would normally greet the ruler of another land. There were only two problems with this approach, however. First, he did not know the proper form of address for the leader of a troll clan. Chieftain? Elder? It was not something that had ever come up during his years of diplomatic training. He hadn't even caught the old troll's name the last time he'd been here. And then, there was the second problem.

He had absolutely no idea which of the many large, round stones arrayed about him on the rocky tiers might actually _be _the leader.

Well, when all else fails, one generally can't go too very wrong with a little good old fashioned politeness.

Clearing his throat, Agdar spoke loudly and clearly. "I beg your forgiveness for the unfortunate hour of my visit. However, I need to speak to the learned lore master who healed my daughter three years ago. I seek his advice on matters beyond my ken." A little stilted, perhaps, but such formality was often the best way to demonstrate one's respect in unknown situations such as this.

A moment later, a rumbling filled the hollow like the beginnings of a small landslide. In twos and threes, the stones rocked slightly, then began to roll down the rocky steps. Soon, a great number of them had gathered around the king's feet. Then suddenly, arms, legs, and heads unfurled on every side of him. Wide eyes blinked up at him in surprise and curiosity.

"The King!"

"It's the King!"

"The King is back!"

Agdar turned this way and that, taking in the sight of the peculiar little persons that now surrounded him. He had been too distracted the last time to pay much attention to any of them save the one who had tended to Anna. Still, these trolls dwelt within the borders of his realm, even if they didn't exactly fall under his rule. At the very least, they were neighbors who had done him a great favor. Regardless of how ill at ease he might feel among them, he had set aside considerably more acrimonious feelings when dealing with some so-called dignitaries who had done far less for Arendelle.

He lowered himself to one knee, to deal with them more at their own level. "Hello," he said with a gentle smile. "I didn't mean to alarm you. Again, please accept my apologies for the lateness of the hour, but this was the best chance I had to slip away without being missed or followed. After all you have done for me and my family, it would be poor repayment if I betrayed the secret of your location to anyone."

"We do not hide from strangers," came a rich and gentle voice that nevertheless carried with it the power of wisdom and authority. The crowd around Agdar parted, and into the midst of the little amphitheater walked the wizened figure of the elderly troll with whom he had spoken on that night three years ago. There was no mistaking the long grassy hair, the mossy eyebrows, and the weight of many years that he somehow managed to carry so serenely.

"We do not hide at all," the troll continued. "That our location is unknown to most is merely because we do not concern ourselves greatly with the wider world, and it has generally found us to be rather uninteresting as well. But we welcome guests when we have them, especially when they are as honorable as you." He gave a brief bow. Then the look of polite regard that he had maintained so far shifted a little to one of concern. "Is there a problem, Your Majesty? Is your Anna alright?"

"Yes, she is doing quite well. Though it occurs to me now that I do not believe I ever thanked you for what you did for my daughter. You must have thought me to be quite rude. Please accept my deepest gratitude on behalf of my wife and all of Arendelle." He dropped his head to his chest in a show of respect.

The venerable old troll tutted. "You had quite enough on your mind that night – more than enough to put anyone a little off their manners. Think nothing of it. I was only too happy to help. So then, what other errand has brought you back for a second visit, hmm?"

Looking up once again, Agdar hesitated only a moment before speaking. "I actually wanted to speak with you about my elder daughter, Elsa."

"Ah, I see. Well then, before we continue, might I suggest we retire to a more comfortable location? We trolls can stand for hours upon the hard stone with no great trouble, but I suspect you would prefer a somewhat softer seat. Come, follow me." With that, the troll turned and made his way back down the path that had been cleared when he had entered. The king followed.

He was led to a small stone shelf off to one side of the depression. The floor was covered with rugged but springy mountain grasses, and the cliff wall behind it was nearly hidden behind a thick blanket of moss and fine lichen. With a gesture, the troll indicated that Agdar should have a seat, which he did, and it proved to be a surprisingly pleasant one at that.

Having settled himself upon the living cushions, Agdar took a moment to gather his thoughts. Before he could begin, however, his host spoke once again.

"All this talk of manners has just made me realize that I have quite forgotten my own. I have never properly introduced myself, have I? I beg your pardon. The youngsters call me Grandpabbie, but I think perhaps Pabbie would be more suitable between us. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Certainly, if that is what you would prefer. And you may call me Agdar."

Pabbie smiled and bobbed his head at the honor, but his words spoke otherwise. "I do not think that would be appropriate, Your Majesty. While we keep to ourselves and enjoy the autonomy we have been given, we are nevertheless loyal to the crown. It would not feel right to address you in such a familiar fashion."

"As you wish," the king replied.

"Now, you wished to speak about Elsa?"

"Yes," Agdar began. However, he found it surprisingly difficult to go much beyond that simple affirmation. So many years of hiding his daughter's secret had become second nature at this point. His instincts now rebelled at confiding the details to someone who was, for all practical purposes, little more than a stranger to him. And yet, that was the very reason he had come here. If he couldn't talk to this person, who already knew more about magic than anyone else Agdar had ever known, then Elsa truly would be on her own.

"Yes," he repeated. "When last I was here, you told Elsa that she must learn to control her power. Well, three years have passed, and she still seems to be struggling with that. Her mother and I want to help her in any way we can, but we know nothing about magic. The queen thought that, since you have more experience in such things, perhaps you might be able to offer some advice."

Pabbie sighed. "I suspected that might be the reason."

"From your tone, I take it that you won't be able to help?"

The troll held out his hands, palms upward, and rocked them back and forth. "You have to understand," he attempted to explain. "Magic... is much like music. In fact, there are those who contend that music is merely a form of magic in itself, but that's a matter for another time. The important thing is this.

"Just as there are hundreds of different instruments that one can use to play music, and countless different songs one can learn to perform, so too are there endless types of magic. A musician who only plays the pipes would be a poor teacher for someone who wished to learn the lute.

"My talents lie mainly in the magics of healing and memory. I also have a rather limited skill for divining the future, though I'm afraid I cannot often see things as clearly as I would like."

Agdar nodded his understanding. This was exactly what he had told Ellinor, after all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but wonder how far the old troll's analogy could be pushed. "You say it's like music. But doesn't all music share some things in common? Notes and chords, rhythm and meter?"

"There are a few threads that most magics seem to share, yes, and I will tell you what I can. You must understand, however, that learning to master such things is a very personal journey. No two people ever have quite the same experience along the way."

The king leaned forward attentively. "I am already in your debt, but whatever advice that you can give would be most welcome."

Pabbie paused for a moment to marshal this thoughts, then he spoke. "Magic is, in many respects, an art form. It isn't governed by rules so much as by convention. Most people, before they ever discover their own powers, already have formed ideas about what magic is and what it is not from stories they were told as children. Those notions are usually so difficult to leave behind that they typically shape what any given individual can and cannot do with their abilities.

"As with all art, however, there are a rare few who find a way to transcend those conventions. They often become the greatest among us. In the right place and at the right time, such a person can change the world."

"So you're saying that a person with magical abilities can only do as much as they believe that they can do?"

"In a sense, yes." the troll agreed with a trace of reluctance. "Like most things in life, of course, it's never quite that simple. Who among us hasn't, at one time or another, surprised ourselves by doing something we never thought we possibly could? The same thing happens with magic too.

"Still, the mind is the chief tool through which magical power is wielded. One's beliefs, one's desires, even one's emotional state will have a tremendous impact on one's control. It can alter the shape that your magic will take. Even more importantly, it's very easy for the magic itself to then turn around and reinforce the beliefs that created it."

Pabbie looked hard at Agdar, trying to see if his words were being understood. The blank expression he received in return seemed to provide that answer. "It is difficult to explain to one who has not experienced it first hand. Let me see. Have you ever been moved by a picture or a song? Well, it's not unlike that. It is likely that the artist who made that work experienced those same feelings at some point during its creation. As the work took shape, it became an embodiment of those emotions. Then, in the same way that it moved you, might it not have moved the artist as well?

"We pour our ideas and feelings into that which we create. Then those feelings are reflected back into us from our creations. Do you see now? Magic is the same way. Therein lies its greatest power, but also its greatest danger."

Agdar nodded slowly. "Yes, I believe I understand." At least he thought he did, mostly. He now regretted that he'd never had the chance to dabble in art or music himself when he had been younger. His father, however, had viewed such things as a waste of time better spent on more serious matters. It was why he now entrusted most of the decorating around the palace to Ellinor. His sense of aesthetics was underdeveloped at best. Nevertheless, he considered the troll's words carefully before he spoke again.

"So mind affects magic affects mind. Yes, we've already seen signs of that with Elsa. Whenever she gets upset, she's more likely to lose control of her powers, and that only upsets her further. But if you're saying the same holds true for other feelings, then it stands to reason that the opposite should also be the case. That the happier she is, the easier it will be for her to remain in control."

"Certainly," Pabbie replied. "The magics I possess are more subtle than your daughter's, so it would be far more difficult for them to ever truly run out of control. But in my younger days, when my temper ran hotter, I would often find that my abilities would simply desert me whenever I found myself in an ill humor. Which, of course, would only serve to make me crosser than I already was. Now that I am older – and, I would hope, a little wiser – my emotions have become more tempered. With that came a sensitivity and precision that I never could have achieved those long years ago.

"Thank goodness for the mellowing of age, eh?" The troll winked at his guest, who smiled back... and tried not to think about his fit of anger the summer past.

_That's the trick though, isn't it?_ the king mused to himself. _Ellinor and Anna and I do our best to keep Elsa's spirits up, but we can't always be with her. And she remains so unsure of herself that it only takes a momentary lapse to set her back all over again. How do you __impart __confidence __to __another__? You can offer all the encouragement in the world, but if they won't believe in themselves..._

"Is there nothing that can suppress the magic?" Agdar asked. "No talisman or spell or something that would weaken it, make it easier to manage?"

"If such a thing exists, I have never heard of it," the troll replied. Then, his gaze seemed to turn inward for a moment as he considered the question further. "Though I suppose it might be possible, after a fashion. Since the mind plays such a critical role in the channeling of magical power, then if someone _believed_ that such a thing existed, there's a chance it could actually work that way. It would be a tenuous solution at best, however. As I said three years ago, the head can be persuaded to change with relative ease. It would only take a shred of doubt, and the effect could be shattered."

_Elsa's gloves_, thought Agdar. That must be why they worked – only because she believed they did! How fragile that security must be. Even though she had now taken to not wearing them from time to time, the fact that they were still there if she needed them might be the only thing giving her the confidence to do without. So above all else, Elsa could not be allowed to question her belief in those gloves. He and Ellinor would have do everything they could to reinforce it.

Would it be possible to find something else that might work in a similar fashion, that might serve to reinforce or supplement the trust that Elsa held in her gloves?

He rose from his seat. "Thank you, Pabbie," he said. "You have given me much to think about." Once again, he lowered himself to one knee. Looking the troll elder squarely in the eyes, he spoke earnestly. "The Kingdom of Arendelle is truly blessed to count your people among its many citizens. I only wish I could offer you something in return, as a gesture of my gratitude for all that you have done for my family."

The king extended his open hand. Pabbie grasped it firmly and smiled. "Our needs are few and simple, Your Majesty. For the present, your continued friendship is all that we require in the way of thanks."

"You shall have it, for as long as my reign lasts, I can assure you," Agdar replied sincerely. Then he stood, bowed slightly to the wise old sage, and retraced his steps across the bowl to where his horse awaited. Pabbie followed behind, to see his distinguished visitor safely on his way.

The king had unhooked his reins and was just about to lift his foot to the stirrup when a final thought suddenly occurred to him. Turning back around, he looked down at the diminutive figure.

"You said that a pipe player would be a poor lute teacher. So perhaps I need to seek out a lutenist. Have you heard of anyone else with magic like Elsa's? If there are others out there with these same abilities, perhaps they would be better able to help my daughter find her control."

Pabbie frowned. "I'm afraid, Your Majesty, that I have only ever heard the rumors of whispers of one such person, and that was many long years ago now. I'd heard little before then, and nothing more since. Nor did I pay much attention at the time. As I said, we generally take little interest in the world beyond our own small community.

"All that I can recall now was vague talk of a woman who lived in a land far to the north, and who supposedly had powers very similar to your Elsa's. Even back then, however, the stories had the flavor of myth about them. And that had to have been... oh, at least fifty years ago, I should think. It's unlikely that she would still be alive by now, assuming she ever truly existed to begin with.

"I am terribly sorry, but I'm afraid that I simply cannot be of more help."

"You have been more than gracious with your time and your wisdom," Agdar replied. "And now, I really should be going. I have kept you too long as it is, and I have a long ride ahead of me as well."

The king mounted his horse and swung it around to face back up the grassy road. He turned back to the trolls (for several others had gathered now around their leader) one last time, however. "May you and your people ever live with peace and joy abounding."

Pabbie nodded his gratitude. Then Agdar called to his horse and it sprang quickly away, eager as its rider to once again return to the warm comforts of home.

The small crowd of trolls began to disperse across the clearing, returning to their usual resting places. Most of them had curled up and settled down for the remainder of the night when one voice suddenly called out.

"Kristoff? Kristoff! My goodness, has anyone seen that boy? He's always wandering off whenever I turn my back on him for two seconds. Kristoff!"

"I'm right here, Bulda," another voice called in answer. A mop-haired lad of about eleven years walked out from among the straggling foliage alongside the mountain trail. He was looking back along the road, even though the horse and rider were already hidden from sight. "Who was that who just left?"

"Never you mind that," the female troll snapped in that particular tone of half-irritated, half-concerned voice shared by mothers the world over. "Just where have you been, young man? You should know better than to go roaming about at this time of night. There are wolves out there, and worse! You're not made of stone, you know!"

"Oh, Bulda," Kristoff answered, fighting to keep a grin off his face at this all-too-familiar scolding. "You know the wolves never come near this place. And besides, I had Sven with me. You'd protect me, wouldn't you buddy?"

Emerging from the shadows between the trees, a nearly full grown reindeer cantered up to stand beside the young boy, nuzzling his friend affectionately with his muzzle. Kristoff had found and befriended the orphaned animal only a few months before they had both been adopted by the troll clan. Each had seemingly found a kindred spirit in the other from the moment they had met. And though Sven, being a reindeer after all, had reached his full growth far faster than his human companion, the two remained practically inseparable.

The presence of her adopted son's large guardian seemed to mollify Bulda somewhat, but not completely. "You still haven't explained to me what you were doing off in the woods," she scowled.

"Buuulda..." Kristoff drawled. His head sank to his chest and he looked at her with a plea in his eyes. "Please don't make me say it."

She stood there, fists planted on either side of her torso, tapping her foot impatiently. The boy's eyes dropped again, and he turned his head to one side. Whatever answer he gave then was so badly mumbled that Bulda had to ask him, in that same motherly tone, to repeat himself and to speak clearly this time.

Sighing, Kristoff threw a long-suffering look to the heavens and then replied, "I had to tinkle."

The sounds of quiet giggling could be heard from some of the youngsters nearby, who'd been awakened by all the night's excitement. Kristoff blushed to the roots of his hair.

It was now Bulda's turn to try to keep a straight face. She was pretty much exactly as unsuccessful as Kristoff had been earlier. "Well," she began. "Alright then. But it's very late, and growing boys need their sleep. So off with the two of you now. Go on!"

The pair beat a hasty retreat to the grassy hollow that typically served as their bed. Sven curled up on the ground first, then Kristoff lay down beside him, pillowing his head against the reindeer's warm hide. Though Sven's breathing quickly fell into the slow and even rhythms of slumber, Kristoff continued to stare up at the starry night sky for quite a while, his mind wandering while he waited for his own sleep to arrive.

He still wondered who the mysterious visitor had been, and yet he was unwilling to press his luck with Bulda at the moment. Maybe he'd ask her in the morning. Then again, probably not. The past three years living among the trolls had definitely rubbed off on him. He had already been forced to become a loner at an early age – with the one exception of Sven, naturally. But that had only made the clan's insular attitude a near perfect fit. If it didn't concern him, then he didn't concern himself with it. Life was far simpler that way.

_I only need a sled and my reindeer,_ he thought to himself as he finally began to drift off. _So I'm doing pretty good. After all, I'm only eleven, but I'm halfway there._


	39. Sneaking Suspicions

**A/N: I've been asked several times via reviews and PMs whether I plan to adhere to the movie canon or turn this into an AU at some point. So I want clarify for everybody out there. My intent has been (and so far remains) to keep _Echoes_ canon-compatible.**

**What do I mean by that? Well, I've already stretched some details here and there, putting a different spin on them than what the film seemed to imply. I also intend to explore some ideas that were never hinted at in the movie. But my goal is to not contradict anything in the movie either, so that this story could legitimately live within its confines.**

**Placing such limitations around my story has certainly made writing it an interesting little dance. It seems a fair number of you have found it an interesting read too. It does mean, however, that by the time I'm done, the correct genre assignment for this story should perhaps be changed to Hurt/Comfort/Hurt/Comfort/Hurt/Comfort... :-)**

* * *

As Ellinor prepared for bed, she couldn't help but think yet again about what Agdar had told her of his visit to the trolls.

Several weeks had passed since that night. They had gone over and over what Pabbie had said so often that it sometimes felt like they were rehearsing a play. Yet despite all of that effort, they still had not come up with any ideas for how to make practical use of what they had learned. Finally a few days ago, they had both agreed to let it rest for a while, in hopes that some distance and a little time might eventually help make things clearer.

So far, at least from Ellinor's perspective, this approach was not working any better.

She did know, however, that if she went to bed still dwelling on it, she would remain awake for hours chasing the possibilities around in her head. She'd had too many nights like that already. So although she slipped under the covers, she propped her pillow and her back against the headboard. Reaching over to her nightstand, she picked up the book that she had taken to keeping there for precisely this purpose.

Turning to where she had left off the night before, she once again allowed herself the indulgence of getting lost in the pages of the ancient _Grettis saga Ásmundarsonar_.† She appeared to have the time, after all. Agdar had not yet retired to their bedchambers.

This was not terribly uncommon. Despite his insistence that Arendelle could very nearly run itself, her husband had a difficult time shaking the deep sense of responsibility he felt towards the kingdom. Sometimes, that resulted in his remaining in his study late into the evening hours, reviewing the latest news from overseas and carefully considering how it might impact his people. She had long ago come to expect this from time to time, and indeed found his dedication to his subjects to be one of his more endearing qualities.

So when the door finally swung open, she didn't so much as glance up from her reading. This meant that she failed to see Agdar glancing furtively up and down the hallway outside before he pushed the door closed once again. Nor did she notice the distracted look on his face as he shucked off his clothes and slipped into his nightwear.

It wasn't until she felt him climb into bed beside her that she realized he hadn't said a single word this entire time, and that was peculiar. Usually after one of his late nights, Agdar would have plenty on his mind that he'd want to talk over with her. If something had kept him busy for this long, it was almost always important enough to warrant at least a few minutes worth of discussion, and he'd have no qualms about interrupting her reading to do so. So what could his silence mean?

She laid her book down upon her lap and turned to face her husband. He was also sitting up beside her, but his eyes weren't focused on anything within the room. A muscle was working along the side of his jaw, as though he was chewing on whatever thought was commanding his attention. His brow was furrowed slightly, in either concentration, consternation or perhaps both.

"Agdar?" she asked quietly. When he didn't respond, she prompted again, a little louder this time. "Agdar, what's the matter?"

"Hmm?" he responded, turning his head slightly towards her even though his eyes did not move. It took another moment before he finally blinked, then appeared to shake himself out of his reverie. Only then did he fully turn to face her. She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question.

"Have you noticed Anna lately?" he asked at last. The question was, on its face, so absurd that Ellinor had to smile.

"Yes, I notice her frequently. She is our daughter and just happens to live here, you know."

Agdar shook his head, ignoring her gentle humor. "That's not what I meant. Have you noticed that Anna is... well, everywhere lately?"

Now it was Ellinor's turn to blink. She really hadn't given it a great deal of thought before that moment. As she considered her husband's question, however, she had to admit that Anna did seem to have been spending more time around her than usual.

"I don't know that I'd say everywhere," she replied. "But yes, I suppose I've noticed her nearby more often of late. What of it?"

"Well, it's just... I've noticed the same thing, and it seems to me that it started around the time that she asked you about her hair. I find that to be an odd coincidence. After three years, Anna suddenly asks about the stripe in her hair, and then just as suddenly starts taking such an active interest in what you and I are doing all the time. Don't you find that a little peculiar?"

"Oh, I don't know about all that. I mean, the poor girl's lonely. It seems to me you could just as easily say it started after Marie left, when you began her riding lessons. She suddenly found herself without a friend again. And even though Elsa is at least talking to her now, you know that isn't the same. She's just desperate for company, and where else is she going to find it?"

Agdar did not appear convinced. "Ellinor, she knows we're keeping things from her. It was one thing when she was five or six. But the older she gets, the more she's going to want to understand what's going on. I think she might be following us in hopes that we'll accidentally let something slip."

This was too much for the queen, who simply couldn't keep herself from laughing. "Oh, Agdar! You make Anna sound like a little spy or something. Before long, you're going to be accusing her of listening at keyholes!"

• • •

Anna jerked back from the door as if she'd been slapped. Though there was no one in the dim corridor to see her, she nevertheless felt her face burn red with shame. What would Mother think if she ever found out how accurate her jest had been?

As quietly as she could, Anna turned and slipped away up the hall.

She had indeed been trying to spend as much time as possible near her parents for the last few weeks, figuring that the laws of probability would work in her favor. The more often she was near them, she reasoned, the better the chances that one of those moments might be the one in which they accidentally said something illuminating. Unfortunately, all that she had learned from this approach so far was that she apparently needed to pay more attention when Prof. Engelstad was trying to explain statistics.

So a few nights ago, she had decided that she needed to try a different approach. Mother and Father might not talk about such things when they knew others were around. But what might they say to each other when they thought they were alone?

That was why, after Mother had tucked her in and bade her goodnight, Anna had once again waited quietly for a ten count, until she had judged that she had given the queen a sufficient head start. Then she had stolen out of her room, much as she had done the last several evenings. Padding silently through the passageways and taking advantage of one or two convenient shortcuts, she had finally peeked around a corner just in time to see her mother closing the doors to the royal bedchambers.

The question then had been whether or not her father was already inside. Since he hadn't come to tuck her in, anything was possible. So after carefully confirming that the hallway was indeed empty, she had tiptoed across to the door, pressed her ear against it, and held her breath while she listened.

After a minute had passed with no sound of conversation, she'd concluded that the king was probably still out somewhere else in the palace. Most likely, he was working late in his study. Kai had told her that he did this from time to time, after all. So she had decided that she would simply have to wait. Taking care once again not to make a sound, she'd crossed the corridor and slipped silently into a room across the way.

She had sat there, leaning against the wall, with the door opened just the tiniest crack so that she could keep an eye on the bedchamber door. The minutes had dragged by with painful deliberation, and soon she was stifling yawn after yawn and fighting to keep sleep at bay.

She had jerked awake at the sound of footsteps in the passage outside. In her startlement, she'd accidentally banged her knee against the door. It hadn't been a terribly loud noise. Nevertheless, as she held her breath and peered through the crack, she realized it had apparently been just loud enough. She watched her father standing there, framed in the doorway across the hall, turning his head left and right as though seeking the source of the sound.

Only when he had finally disappeared into the room and closed the door behind him had she let herself breathe once again. Even then, she had waited several more seconds before at last daring to leave her hiding place. It was only with great care that she had once again positioned herself for another surreptitious eavesdropping session.

And now she was scurrying away from the scene, tail between her legs.

She'd known all along that what she was doing was not only risky but also quite unbecoming of a princess – or of anyone brought up with any kind of manners, for that matter. Still, she had managed to convince herself that she was justified in using such extreme measures. After all, it wasn't right that she should be the only member of the family kept in the dark about these secrets, whatever they might be. If she had to resort to these tactics... well, it was their own fault for pushing her to them.

But then she'd heard Mama defending her against Papa. Never before had she felt so mortified. Maybe they didn't trust her with their secrets, but they did trust her to behave like a civilized human being.

She had broken that trust, and now she hated herself for it. She knew she would not be able to bring herself to do it again, even though it left her back where she'd started, with no apparent avenue forward to unearthing any answers.

So what could she do now?

For starters, she knew that she ought to get back to her bedroom. And yet, she found that her feet had carried her to a different destination. She was in the portrait room again. It was dim in here at this hour, but with the light from the hall, she was still able to see well enough. Oh well. She was too keyed up at this point to have much chance of getting to sleep anyway.

Instead of sprawling out on her usual seat beneath Joan's painting, however, she began walking in circles around and around the room, trying to figure out just what exactly she had been thinking weeks ago when she'd barged in on Gerda and Kai and demanded to play a part in their unraveling of her family's secrets.

She still wanted those answers, of course. However, she was beginning to realize that, even though she might be a princess, she was also still just an eight-year-old girl. What had she really thought she was going to be able to accomplish? Under any other circumstances, her position within the royal family might have made her an ideal spy. Unfortunately, it seemed that she herself was one of the people whom her mother and father most wanted to keep in the dark on this particular matter.

There had to be some way for her to unravel these mysteries, or at least find a few frayed edges. Some way forward that didn't leave her feeling like some kind of criminal. Think, Anna, think!

She paused in her orbit to look up at a picture of a beautiful lady in a turquoise gown, sitting prettily in a high-backed chair. Standing on her far side, and peering out of the painting with wide round eyes, was a bushy-haired girl about Anna's age. The woman was looking down at the girl with a tender smile on her face.

"Did you keep secrets from your daughter?" Anna asked the portrait. "Is that just something that all parents do? I mean, I only know my own, after all. Well, I sorta knew Marie's a little, but not very well. She never mentioned them keeping anything from her, but would she know if they did? Maybe the only difference is that I know that mine are keeping things from me." Wow, that was a depressing thought. She turned quickly away and resumed her pacing.

About the only thing that she felt fairly certain of was that attempting to get anything out of Elsa would not be a good idea. For starters, her sister had only begun talking to her again a few months ago, when Anna had needed her comfort the most. Now, she would not dare risk that fragile connection for anything. She'd remain in the dark forever before she'd take a chance at pushing Elsa away again.

Besides, her sister still preferred to let Anna do most of the talking. Not that she minded, of course. But if she was going to have to stick to the strategy of simply picking up on little slips here and there, it didn't seem likely that she would get much from Elsa's few carefully chosen words.

That meant she still had to look to her parents. From what Kai and Gerda had told her, most of the information they'd managed to piece together so far had come from her mother. Perhaps she should focus there? Then again, maybe not. Gerda's friendship seemed to already be working in their favor, and chances were good that Mother might just be less guarded with her friend than with her daughter in this case.

Alright, Father then. Kai had already been attempting to glean whatever he could from the king, but he did not enjoy the same close relationship that had worked so well for Gerda. So maybe that would be the place that Anna could do the most good.

Once again, the princess came to a halt, a frown darkening her features. "But how do I get Father to tell me anything useful?" she wondered aloud. She looked up at the many faces surrounding her, as if half hoping that one of them might actually provide an answer.

"Direct questions won't work, so what does that leave me?" Even though no replies were forthcoming, she continued to think aloud. Sometimes, it just helped to get the ideas out of your head and into the air. That was, in fact, something her father had taught her. Simply putting your thoughts into real words in order to explain them to someone else could often clarify them enough to let you suddenly see a solution that had otherwise eluded you.

"Well, I suppose I could try indirect questions," she mused. "That seems to be what Gerda does, and it works well enough for her. But knowing my tendency to ramble when I get nervous, even that could be dangerous. What started out innocently enough could easily end up with my foot firmly in my mouth by the time I got done." At this unflattering (but unfortunately all too accurate) self-assessment, Anna's frown deepened into a full-fledged scowl, which she directed toward the smirking face of the man in the painting beside her.

"Fine then. If I can't ask anything, I suppose I'll just have to keep listening instead. For all the good that's done me. It's not like Father is going to accidentally say something to me during my riding lessons that will suddenly put all the pieces together. He's far too skilled a negotiator to let anything slip like that."

This state of affairs infuriated Anna to no end. Passively waiting around in hopes that a clue or two might unintentionally fall into her lap ran completely counter to her character. It was what had driven her to listen at her parents' door these last few nights, however ill-advised that now seemed. Of course, given her father's suspicions (which he had just unknowing revealed to her), she'd probably have to cut back even on her more overt observations

No, quiet espionage was clearly not Anna's forte. She needed to be _doing_ something... you know, pretty much all the time. Maybe Kai and Gerda had been right from the beginning. Maybe she didn't have any business poking her nose into this after all.

She looked up higher on the wall, to a painting of three people seated around a table in a dark room, each leaning inward toward the pool of dim light that illuminated their faces. In her current frame of mind, she couldn't help but see those figures as three members of their own little conspiracy, meeting in secret to discuss their latest progress. She suddenly felt a strange kinship with them, as if she was an invisible fourth cohort – the one whose point of view was depicted by the painting, the one left out of the conversation.

"One of these days," Anna said to the room at large, "my knack for leaping before I look is going to get me into serious trouble."

With a sigh, Anna trudged out of the room, pulling the doors shut behind her. At last, she turned her feet toward her bedroom and what she felt sure would be a very poor night's sleep.

• • •

"Before long, you're going to be accusing her of listening at keyholes!" Ellinor's laughter faded, though a broad smile still remained behind. "Well, other than Elsa's, that is. I do believe you're becoming quite paranoid. Maybe you've been spending too much time fending off obnoxious inquiries from that annoying Duke of Weaseltown."

"Weselton," her husband corrected absentmindedly.

"If you choose to name him by the duchy he represents, then yes. Personally, I think my name is a far more accurate and useful description of that dreadful little man. Kai seems to agree with me as well.

"Which actually brings up another point. Anna hasn't only been spending more time with you and me these days. I've also seen her talking with Kai and Gerda quite often, too. Like I said, I think she's just turning to the people she knows best for a little bit of companionship. It can't be easy on her, no longer having anyone else her own age in this whole great big castle."

Ellinor was pleased to see Agdar looking a little surprised. Clearly, he had not known about Anna's other recent associations. She loved the man dearly. But sometimes, when it came to their children, he just didn't have a clue.

"Oh," he said. "Well! I didn't realize. You may be right then. I suppose I could be overreacting, just a little. Perhaps the stress of keeping all these secrets has begun to get to me as well, in its own way."

The lost and confused look that he now wore made the queen's heart go out to him. She reached over and laid her hand upon his arm. "It's perfectly understandable," she reassured him. "This awful situation is affecting all of us. Quite honestly, I'm surprised we're holding up as well as we are. The fact that we're all still reasonably sane says a lot, I think, about how strong this family truly is."

Agdar nodded. "Yes, I'm sure you're right. As usual." The last two words finally brought a smile to his face as he glanced over at her again.

"Now you're talking sense." She smiled back at him. "Come now, it's late. We should both get to sleep." She set her book back on the bedside table, leaned over to kiss her husband on the cheek, then wriggled down to settle herself beneath the covers.

It took her a while before she realized that her husband was not joining her. Opening her eyes, she looked up at him. He was once again staring off into space, though the expression on his face was different this time.

Propping her head up with one hand, she regarded him with only a trace of exasperation. "Something else, dear?" she asked.

He glanced quickly at the door. Apparently, his paranoia hadn't completely dissipated after all, for when he turned to her, he spoke in hushed tones. "I think I might have come up with a way to help Elsa. It would only be a little thing, though it'll take a bit of time to do the thing properly. For all I know, it might not even work. But based on what I learned from the trolls, it's still the best idea that I've been able to come up with."

Now Ellinor pushed herself up on one elbow, instantly intrigued. "Well," she replied, and she found herself lowering her own voice to match his, "don't keep me in suspense. What is it?"

So Agdar explained his idea to her and why he thought it might aid their troubled daughter. She listened quietly, taking in his words and evaluating his reasoning. When he finished, she was silent for the space of a few breaths. Then she slowly nodded.

"I don't know if it will work either, but it's a far better idea than the nothing I've come up with. And I certainly don't see how it could hurt anything. I think we should try it."

"So do I," Agdar agreed. "I'll start setting things in motion tomorrow."

The King and Queen of Arendelle smiled warmly at one another. There was every possibility that this notion of theirs would ultimately lead nowhere. Still, so much time had gone by while they'd been at a complete loss to do anything at all. Now, at the thought that they might have even the slightest chance of helping Elsa, it felt like... like...

Well, it felt like magic.

* * *

† _The Saga of Grettir the Strong, _generally considered to be one of the few Scandinavian analogues with legitimate connections to _Beowulf_


	40. A Contrast in Studies

"Breakfast, Your Highness."

Elsa groaned and rolled over. It couldn't possibly be morning already, could it? It felt like she'd only just closed her eyes a few minutes ago. There was no way she was ready to face the day so soon.

Unfortunately, she knew perfectly well that she didn't have very much choice. The fact that one of the palace staff had delivered her meal meant that her mother must be running a little late this morning. Nevertheless, she would be arriving all too soon to begin today's lessons, and right at this moment, Elsa couldn't think up any decent excuses that wouldn't lead to her having to answer some awkward questions. Like it or not, she needed to get up. Now. Right now.

Or maybe in just a few more minutes...

This was the price she was paying for her determination to resume her magical exercises. In order to minimize the chances of unexpected visitors interrupting those sessions, Elsa was now waiting until late in the evenings before beginning her experiments. Most of the time, that worked out well. Even on those rare nights when Mother allowed Anna to stay late talking to her, she was usually still able to squeeze in at least an hour of practice before she turned in.

Her diligence was paying off, too. Her fine control over the ice magic was continuing to improve, and the detail that she was now able to work into her designs was far greater than it had been even a month ago. She had learned how to chip away at the ice with the precision of a chisel, rather than the blunt force of a clumsily wielded hammer. She was even beginning to reach the point where she could form the ice with the patterns already carved into it, instead of having to create that detail later.

Therein lay the seed of her current problem, however. Some nights, everything just went too well. When that happened, bleary mornings often followed. This heavy drowsiness was entirely of her own making.

Last night had been such a night. She'd been experimenting with creating oversized snowflakes, large ice crystals that in some cases nearly stretched from one edge of her basin to the other. It had been liberating, not being beholden to any preexisting shape that she was trying to recreate. At the same time, it was also quite challenging since she needed to maintain the symmetries while refining the increasingly intricate lacework.

And like so many of her practices, it had also been more than a little bittersweet. She still had not figured out how to melt the ice herself. So, without the benefit of the afternoon sun to speed the job along, her new schedule had forced her into using slightly more painful measures to ensure that no trace would remain come morning.

Each night when she finished, she would smash her painstakingly crafted creations into tiny pieces. It was the only way that she had come up with so far to be sure they had enough time to completely liquify before the dawn. Since her official lessons normally began right after breakfast, it was important that no traces remained behind of her own more personal studies.

Even employing that strategy, however, she was concerned that it might not have been enough last night. She had become so engrossed in her work that she'd lost all track of time. Only after a shuddering yawn had resulted in a horribly twisted and lopsided slab of ice in her basin did she realize just how long she had been at it.

At least she'd had no qualms about shattering her last malformed creation. Still, all that time spent working her magic meant that a generous mound of ice chips had collected in the bottom of the bowl. It would be a very near thing whether or not they would all melt in the too-short time before morning. She hadn't been able to think of anything else she could do to speed things along, however, so she'd finally dragged herself to bed at who-knew-what-hour of the night. At least with summer fast approaching, the nights were growing warmer too. Every little bit would help.

Either way, she now was reaping the rewards of her absentmindedness. It promised to be a very long morning at lessons. With any luck, maybe she could at least sneak a nap sometime this afternoon. Right now, however, she knew that her options were quite limited. She needed to get up and be ready when her mother arrived. She really didn't feel like she was in any fit state to come up with a coherent excuse for still being curled up beneath the sheets when that knock came at her door.

With a long, drawn out sigh, Elsa rolled out of bed. Her bleary eyes were only half open as she stumbled across the room to the little stand upon which her washbasin sat. Maybe a splash of water on her face would help wake her up. If she was lucky, it might still be cold. For once, she'd even be happy to see a few slivers of ice remaining from the previous night. One of those dropped down her back would likely do wonders for her alertness.

There was no ice, however. Nor did she dare attempt to make any, knowing that her mother would be along shortly. Still, the water was pleasantly cool on her cheeks and neck. She dribbled a little across her closed eyes as well, hoping to wash some of the sleep out of them. It revived her, if only partially. At least she felt like she stood a decent chance of staying awake through her classes now, unless today's subject was to be another exploration of the ancient and noble lineage of the Royal House of Arendelle...

The mere thought of that topic was sufficiently mind numbing that, as she leaned over the basin, her mouth once again stretched wide in another mighty yawn. It lasted so long and proved so strong that she actually ended up bracing her hands on either side of the wooden stand to help steady herself as the tremor made its way from her head all the way down her body.

She leaned there for a heartbeat or two, her eyes closed. Her ever-so-slightly more active brain was now beginning to give serious consideration to pretending to be ill, just so she could spend the day in bed. Faking a fever would be tricky, but maybe she could pull off cold and clammy instead.

She heard it a moment before she felt it – that sharp, brittle cracking sound followed by a slick coldness beneath her palms and a gentle pricking across the backs of her fingers. Her eyes snapped wide open, and she immediately jumped backwards, jerking her hands away from the little wash stand.

It was far too late, however; the damage was already done. Translucent spikes covered the top of the white wooden table. They climbed up along every side of the basin and down into the bowl. Even as she watched, the ice closed over the last small circle of liquid water in the very center of the tiny pool. She could tell by the play of the light across the surface that the contents were now a solid mass of ice.

"No! No, no, no, no, no." She kept repeating the word as she looked frantically about the room. Her gloves. Where had she left her gloves? She felt her chest tightening as panic threatened to overwhelm her. Her eyes had grown wide with shock and fear. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't. She nearly choked as she struggled to pull air into her lungs past the solid lump that seemed to have lodged itself in the middle of her throat.

There they were, on her desk where she'd been working last night. She dashed over and snatched at the gloves. Her hands were shaking so badly, however, that they slipped out of her grasp and fell to the floor. Dropping to her knees, she scooped them up again and began fumbling to pull them over her fingers. Unfortunately, her haste only served to make her all the clumsier. It took her a full minute before she realized that she was trying to put them on the wrong hands.

She felt a sob rising in her chest, felt the tears burning in her eyes. Everything had been going so well! She'd been able to practice for hours at a time lately without the slightest loss of control. Why now? It wasn't fair! Why, when her mother would be arriving at any minute? Why did this have to happen? What had she ever done to deserve this?

At last, she managed to pull the glove onto her right hand. A little more fumbling followed before the left glove was on as well. She immediately began to clench and unclench them, first one and then the other.

And there it was again. She felt the fabric pull tight across the back of her hand, felt it fold and curl into her palm. As she released her grip, the thin cloth slid back along her skin like a gentle caress. She closed her eyes and pictured her mother's hands lightly holding her own. She imagined her mother's thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles just behind her knuckles. She willed herself into believing that that love was there with her now, somehow woven into the fine material that clothed her fingers. She tried to think of nothing else.

Slowly, her ragged breathing began to even out and become steady once more. Her throat loosened and her head cleared. The panic receded, if not completely then at least enough for her to begin to think somewhat rationally about this situation she suddenly found herself in.

No, this wasn't a setback, she tried to reassure herself. It was a problem, no doubt about that. But it didn't mean that she was suddenly backsliding. It didn't mean that she wasn't in control. It just meant that she had overdone it a little too much last night. She had been careless and had allowed herself to become dangerously tired. She'd made an error in judgment, one that she would have to be careful not to repeat in the future.

Right now, though, she had to deal with the immediate consequences of her regrettable lapse. And she would have to do so quickly.

Using the backs of her gloves, she scrubbed the tears out of her eyes. No good letting Mother see those. Of course, that was going to be the trick, wasn't it? How could she keep her mother from seeing the evidence of her slip, which was so brazenly proclaiming itself to the world on the other side of the room? She didn't want her parents to worry about her now, not when she really had been making such remarkable progress. This was just one little mistake, that was all. Unfortunately, she didn't know how she could explain that to them, especially to Father.

Right. Well then, there was only one thing for it. There was no way to hide the small mountain of ice in time, especially since it had solidly welded the basin to the table. If Mother entered the room, she would certainly see it; there was simply no place she could hide the entire wash stand. So, when you got right down to it, Elsa could see just one option that promised any chance of successfully concealing this... incident.

She moved quickly to put her hastily devised plan into action.

• • •

Ellinor was half lost in thought as she walked through the palace towards Elsa's room. Midsummer's Eve was approaching once again. Like every year, that implied an extensive list of preparations that needed to be made. Gerda and Kai, as head of the kitchens and steward of the palace, would be leading those efforts, as usual. After last year, however, the queen felt a little guilty about that. It didn't seem right that, on the day during which the Arendelle Royal Family celebrated with and gave their thanks to the entire castle staff, two of the most faithful and loyal of that group always seemed to be too busy to properly enjoy the festivities.

There had to be some way to get them to join in the fun. She had actually broached the subject with them this morning. But just as had happened every time she'd made similar overtures in years past, they had ever so politely informed her that it was simply part of their duties, that they didn't mind one bit, and that The Queen should concern herself with other more important things, of which there had to be any number. If, however, Her Royal Majesty was unable to think of any such matters, Gerda in particular would be more than happy to offer a few suggestions.

Well, Ellinor didn't care. She had made up her mind that those two were going to be a part of this year's celebration, and she could be quite stubborn about such things. Granted, she couldn't recall offhand any occasion on which she'd actually managed to out-stubborn Gerda. Nevertheless, all things may become possible in the fullness of time. This was especially true when one had the resources and the resourcefulness of the Queen of Arendelle!

The thought lifted the corners of her mouth in an impish smile.

She turned the final corner and at last came to a stop before Elsa's door. Even then, however, Ellinor continued to mull over her options for outmaneuvering the two obstinate killjoys. Perhaps she could enlist Agdar or Anna's assistance. At least that way, she would no longer be outnumbered two-to-one. Heaven knows her husband had an obstinate streak of his own that he could bring to bear when he was so inclined. That could be useful in this situation. She would have to think how she could best employ that to her advantage.

So completely distracted was the queen that she had not yet even raised her hand to knock when the door swung silently open.

It didn't open far, but it was quite enough to thoroughly startle Ellinor. It was also just enough to allow Elsa to slip out into the hallway, a stack of books clutched against her chest. She smiled shyly up at her mother, who went from startled to stunned in approximately the space between two heartbeats.

"Good morning, Mother," Elsa said pleasantly. "Sorry if I surprised you. I didn't mean to. It's just that... Well, it's been quite a while since I last had one of my little... erm, outings? And, you know, today just felt kind of... right, I guess. Or something. So anyway, I was wondering... That is, if you wouldn't mind... Could we perhaps have lessons in the library? Today? Please."

Ellinor stared down at her daughter and tried to remember whether or not her own mouth was hanging open. She was pleased, and slightly surprised, to eventually discover that it was not. That small bit of deduction, however, appeared to have exhausted her ability to cope with this unexpected situation. Try as she might, her brain seemed to have temporarily misplaced its facility for speech.

Elsa returned her gaze, quizzically at first and then with overtones of concern. "Mother?" she asked. "Are you alright?"

The queen remembered how to nod a mere second or two before words at last reappeared in her mind. "Mm-hmm," she confirmed. "Yes. I'm fine. You just... That is, I just... I mean, when you... And then I..." She clamped her mouth tightly shut for a moment, to give the uncooperative words a chance to queue up into something resembling a complete sentence. Then, taking a deep breath, she tried again.

"Of course, we can have lessons in the library today, sweetheart. We can have them anywhere you want, whenever you'd like. You only have to ask." Then she smiled, feeling unduly proud of herself for having rediscovered coherent thought once again.

"Thank you, Mother," the princess replied. She turned and tugged the door through the last inch or two of its arc until the latch clicked into place. When she looked back once again, Ellinor thought she caught just a glimpse of apprehension in her daughter's pale blue eyes, although Elsa quickly attempted to hide it with a smile. Her body language was harder to conceal, however, and her misgivings could still be seen there if you knew where to look.

Thinking she could guess the source of that anxiety, the queen rested a reassuring hand lightly upon Elsa's shoulder. "Anna's having her own lessons with Yori... excuse me, with Prof. Englestad this morning," she said. "They ought to last until midday, I should think. I can make sure we finish up a little before then so you'll have time to get back, if that's what you're worried about."

Elsa considered these words for a second. Then the tension across her shoulders melted away. Her smile, which had been a little hesitant, solidified into a firm grin. "That would be wonderful, Mother. Thank you."

"You're quite welcome," she replied, beaming back at her firstborn. Then, with a wave of her free hand, she proposed, "Well, shall we?"

The princess nodded eagerly, and the two set off back up the hallway. Ellinor made a conscious effort to always keep the one hand in contact with some part of her daughter's arm or back as they walked, wanting to give her just that little extra bit of comfort and encouragement. It was merely an added bonus that it also helped confirm for her every step of the way that she wasn't just imagining all this.

Elsa was out of her room again! Of course, she knew this was not the first time this had happened in the past three years. And yet for some reason, this felt different to her, more momentous. Maybe it was the fact that this time, it was coming on the heels of several months of encouraging conversations between her two girls. Maybe it was because this wasn't some special occasion but simply the everyday mundane act of sitting lessons, which made it seem so normal that it was extraordinary.

Or perhaps it was simply because, as had been the case during the very first of these "outings," it would simply be her and her daughter together. And in the library of all places! They had spent so much time in that room back when Elsa had been young, sharing laughter and dreams and their love of poetry. Those precious hours had made what had already been one of Ellinor's favorite rooms into something far deeper and more personal.

Whatever the reason, Ellinor's heart couldn't help but sing out for joy at this sublime moment. To be returning to that memory-filled space with Elsa again after all this time simply filled her with a joy far beyond the words of any bard she had ever read.

It was fortunate that Kai and Gerda had wrangled most of the already reduced palace staff into helping with preparations for the Midsummer celebration. Since they were either off into town to arrange for provisions or downstairs cleaning the dining hall from floor to ceiling, the passages were mostly deserted.

They only encountered one person on their way to the library – a junior staffer who was hurrying along the corridor in the opposite direction. She felt Elsa pull just a little closer to her side as he neared. To his credit, the young man neither stopped nor turned to stare as they passed each other. Nevertheless, Ellinor saw his eyes widen and follow the princess for as long as they could without pulling their owner's head around.

Well, now this little adventure would almost certainly be known throughout the castle before they even finished the morning's lessons. She sighed inwardly. She supposed that it was inevitable that knowledge of Elsa's excursions would slip out eventually. She only hoped that the news would reach Gerda quickly too. Fortunately, that was a near certainty, since staffers were always dropping into the kitchen throughout the day to grab a quick bite to eat in the middle of their busy schedules.

She had faith that, once her old friend heard the tale, she would immediately spread the word that anybody caught trying to sneak a peak at the reclusive princess would find out with frightening swiftness just what a career limiting move that would be.

Mother and daughter soon reached the library. Elsa stopped for a moment just inside the door, her head tilted a little quizzically as she examined the room. It took Ellinor a moment to realize what the princess was staring at.

"Oh, the lounge!" she exclaimed with a light laugh. "That's right, you haven't seen it. Yes, it's new. I only added it earlier this year. I'm afraid the chairs were getting a little too small for me to share comfortably with my girls anymore."

Elsa turned to look up at her then, and the emotions that flickered across her face passed by too quickly for her mother to clearly identify. Rather than even try, she just stroked the back of Elsa's head. "Come on," she said quietly. "Let's go see how well we fit together."

Whatever lesson plan Ellinor might have had for that day was totally abandoned. Instead, the subject naturally and inevitably became Literature. They pulled down book after book, revisiting old favorites and exploring new stories. They talked about what the written words meant to each of them and what they thought the authors might have meant. They discussed the similarities and differences in styles from one writer to the next.

It took every ounce of willpower the queen possessed not to burst into tears of joy when, at one point during their conversations, Elsa actually answered a question with a spontaneously composed rhyming couplet. Ellinor would have responded in kind, had she been able to respond at all.

The only thing that kept it from feeling like a complete return to the halcyon days of years past was the way that Elsa kept glancing at the grandfather clock. It made her mother uncomfortably aware of how quickly the morning was passing. She wanted it to last forever, especially since she had no idea how long it might be before Elsa would be ready to try something like this again. So she attempted to savor every moment, etching them into her mind and onto her heart.

As noon drew closer, she had to fight not to try to squeeze in as much as she could into those last few minutes. She knew perfectly well that to do so would only waste them. When the clock chimed quarter of the hour, tears of another sort threatened to overwhelm her. Still, they were tempered by the pure delight of the last few glorious hours, and she chose to cling to that feeling instead with every ounce of tenacity she possessed.

"Well, Elsa," she said at last, knowing full well that some of her emotions were creeping into her voice, "I promised you we'd finish in time for you to return to your room before Anna's lessons ended. Now, here we are. So, are you ready to go back?"

She watched her daughter's face closely. Elsa looked back at her with a longing that she felt certain was mirrored on her own features. Her daughter glanced over at the clock, watching it slowly tick away the seconds. Then she turned and looked down at her own hands, flexing them within her little white gloves.

Finally, she lifted her gaze to meet her mother's once more. Slowly, with what Ellinor felt certain was pained reluctance, Elsa nodded.

Ellinor nodded too. Inwardly, she clutched the bright warmth of that morning tighter than ever, in order to hide her disappointment at its unavoidable end. Instead, she forced herself to look at this day as a new beginning, the first step towards a brave new tomorrow. Hopefully, many more mornings like this were yet to come.

Standing, she held out her hand to her daughter.

Elsa gathered up the books that she had brought with her. Then, hugging them to her chest with one arm, she slipped her other hand into her mother's. Together, the two walked out of the library. The queen was pleased to see that her faith in Gerda had been well placed, for they did not encounter a single soul on the way back to her daughter's room.

When they reached the door, they stood facing each other for a time in an awkward silence. Then...

"Thank you for this morning." They spoke in perfect unison.

Ellinor blinked down at her daughter. Elsa blinked up at her mother. "Jinx," the princess said with a giggle.

The queen laughed and pulled her daughter to her. Elsa let her books drop to the floor so she could wrap her arms around her mother's waist and squeeze tightly. Their embrace felt like it would last forever, but it was nevertheless over too soon.

Elsa disengaged first, a smile still stretched across her face. She bent down to pick up her books again, then reached for the door handle. Turning it, she pushed gently. As the door swung open and Elsa began to back into her room, she still kept her eyes fixed on her mother's face.

Ellinor raised her hand and waggled her fingers in a small farewell wave. "Bye for now, Elsa. I'll see you again soon."

"Goodbye, Mother. And thank you."

As the door closed between them, Ellinor allowed herself a sigh. Perhaps there was a little regret mixed in there, but mostly it was one of contentment. It had, after all, been a very good morning.

With a smile still on her face, she turned and walked back up the corridor.

• • •

Elsa leaned her back against the inside of the door, her eyes closed, replaying in her head the morning just gone by. It had been beyond wonderful. She hadn't felt this good since her last birthday when her mother and sister had come to her room to visit. It was amazing. If only she could feel this way every day. If only she could share this feeling with Anna...

Then she opened her eyes and was suddenly and painfully reminded of the one obstacle that still stood in the way of that dream.

The wash stand, which she had pushed across the room to soak up as much heat as possible from the window, was drenched with water. The two small towels that she had in her room for drying her hands and face, and which she'd spread out on the floor beneath the little stand, were completely soaked. More water pooled on the floorboards all around them. In short, it was a sopping wet mess.

Elsa drew a deep breath. Well, setbacks were to be expected, she supposed. Obviously, her control wasn't perfect. Still, it was improving, wasn't it? She had merely learned of a new limitation, and now she'd have to work to overcome it or at least compensate for it. She could do that much, surely.

But first, she would have to dry out her room.

Dropping her books onto her bed, she picked up the towels and wrung them out over the basin. Then she began mopping up the meltwater as best she could. It was slow going, especially since both towels were so thoroughly waterlogged. Fortunately, she had the whole afternoon ahead of her... and an entire morning of magnificent memories buoying her spirits from behind.


	41. Midsummers, Past and Present

"It's hard to believe it's already Midsummer's Eve again," Anna said as she sat propped against Elsa's door. "So much has happened this past year." Some bad, she thought as she recalled her gift to Marie a year ago and once again felt the pain of her friend's absence. But there had been good too, like...

"Yes, isn't it strange how some days can just seem to drag on forever, but then you turn around and wonder where the year has gone?"

Anna closed her eyes and pictured Elsa on the other side of the door, probably sitting in a position much like her own. Even though her sister had been speaking with her for months now, Anna refused to take it for granted. It seemed like it would be so easy to do so, but then that was the strange thing about this situation. Well, okay, it was one of many strange things about their situation. But the fact that this door still kept them apart made each little moment of contact feel like a gift, and Anna continued to cherish every one.

"I know, right? I mean, it seems like only yesterday that I was hiding from Nanny after... um... accidentally filling her tea cup with water from the duck pond."

Elsa snickered. "Knowing you, it probably _was_ yesterday."

"It was not!" Anna protested. "I'm old enough now that I hardly even need a nanny. In fact, Mama said they've been thinking that they might not need to keep her on staff much longer."

Anna had experienced mixed feelings when she'd heard this news. She had never exactly been friendly with Nanny the way she was with Gerda or even Kai, perhaps because neither of their job descriptions had included telling her what to do all the time. As such, her relationship with her nursemaid had always been somewhat... rebellious.

Nevertheless, Anna had always felt it was a good-natured sort of rebellion, a kind of merry game to see who could stay one step ahead of the other. Now the prospect of Nanny's possible dismissal would mean yet another familiar face that would no longer be seen within the castle walls. It wasn't like there were all that many of those left at this point, either.

"Won't you miss her?" Elsa asked, seeming to read her sister's mind.

"I dunno," Anna replied. "Maybe. Then again, I don't see her that often these days anyway. Most days after my lessons, if Papa isn't helping me with my riding, I'm pretty much left on my own. I mean, it isn't like I'm ignored or anything. It's just, I guess they trust me now to keep out of trouble by myself."

Elsa didn't speak, but it was as if Anna could hear her grinning through the door. "Yes, I know! They ought to know better by now. Geez, you make me sound like some sort of delinquent."

"I didn't say anything!"

"No, but you were thinking it. Loudly."

Both girls giggled then, and for a moment, Anna almost felt like the door between them had vanished. The sparkling sound of Elsa's laughter wrapped around her like a warm hug. _It's almost enough, _she thought wistfully. _Almost enough to make things feel normal again. And if not normal, it might still be just enough to feel complete._

The laughter finally faded, to be replaced by a moment of comfortable quiet. When Anna spoke again, she couldn't quite keep from sounding a little sheepish. "I know we agreed not to get each other anything this year," she said, and then the words came out in a tumbled rush. "I mean, we never really used to either, except maybe small silly things. It's just that... well, your present last year was so perfect, and I didn't get you anything then. So I really couldn't help it, I just felt kind of guilty, you know? And, well, I'm afraid this isn't anywhere near as nice as that was. But, I don't know, I had the idea and it sort of reminded me of when we used to play together in the gardens, and of those small and silly gifts we used to exchange, and I only thought that... well, that maybe it might..."

She realized that she was rambling again. Feeling a little exasperated with herself, she sighed. "I just... I hope you like it." With gentle care, she slid her creation through the gap beneath the door, then listened nervously for her sister's reaction.

The gasp she heard made her grin with relief. "Anna! It's beautiful! Did you... did you make this yourself?"

Beaming proudly, Anna answered. "Yep. Well, I had a little help. I remembered that time when Mother was out in the gardens with us and she made each of us flower rings to wear in our hair. I hadn't realized what she was doing at first, but after she'd made the first one, I tried to pay closer attention. She was so good at it though and she went so quickly! Plus, that was years ago. So I had the general idea, but I wanted to make sure I did it right. I asked her for some advice, and she helped me pick out just the right blooms and showed me how to weave the stems together. After that, though, I did all the work myself."

There was a pause and then, "It fits perfectly! Oh, Anna, thank you. But now I feel bad that I don't have anything to give to you!"

"Sure you do, Elsa," Anna replied, though now her tone was almost uncharacteristically earnest. "Except that you've been giving it to me for months now. You might not believe me, but I still feel like I owe you, and so much more than one little floral wreath. Thank you for being here for me again."

The next moment passed in silence, or perhaps with a sniffle or two. Then there was the subtle sound of shifting fabric, and a tiny flicker of movement caught Anna's eye. She looked down to see, poking out from beneath the door, the very tips of Elsa's fingers wiggling to get her attention. Smiling at the memory of the first time this had happened not so very long ago, she slipped her own fingers in between her sister's.

Once again, they came together in a tiny embrace. Once again, Anna somehow felt it throughout her entire body. Once again, she thought, _Yes, this __c__ould be enough._

"Anna? Anna, it's nearly time for the banquet to begin." Her mother's voice came to her around the corner a second or two before the queen herself appeared. "You'd better be getting ready. Hurry now, go on and get changed. I'll meet you downstairs in a minute."

"Okay, Mama," the princess said. Giving her sister's fingers one final parting squeeze, she scrambled to her feet. "Have a great evening, Elsa. Happy Midsummer's Eve!"

"You too, Anna. I hope you have a wonderful time." With that, the eager redhead ran off down the hallway toward her room. Ellinor watched her until she reached the far end of the corridor and disappeared down the stairs. Then, she crossed the hall to stand before Elsa's door.

"So, did Anna give you her present?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Do you think I could see it?"

A second later, the door swung shyly open. Or rather, the girl opening it was apparently feeling a little bit shy. For the life of her, however, Ellinor could not understand why. "Oh, Elsa..." she breathed.

Knowing the narrow opening through which she would have to make her delivery, Anna had chosen only the smallest blossoms from the garden. But she'd wanted it to be beautiful, so she had picked lots of them. And she had put a tremendous amount of painstaking effort into carefully intertwining all the short little stems. As far as the queen was concerned, every single minute had been worth it.

Tiny white and gold petals dominated the coronet. Set against the green of the stems, it almost looked like Elsa's white-blond hair had burst into bloom. Her younger daughter had gone one step further, however, by adding a smattering of forget-me-nots here and there throughout the circlet. Their pale blue was such a perfect match for Elsa's eyes that a viewer taking only a casual glance could be forgiven for thinking that two of the little blossoms had simply drifted down onto the girl's face.

"Have you looked at yourself yet?" her mother asked. When Elsa shook her head, Ellinor stepped into the room and, taking her daughter by the shoulders, guided her until they both stood in front of the mirror. The queen watched her little girl's eyes grow wide as they took in the startling beauty that gazed back at her.

"You see, Elsa," the queen whispered as she bent down to bring her own head level with the princess's. "I always said you would wear a crown well."

• • •

King Agdar finished delivering his customary post-dinner speech to the usual accompaniment of scattered chuckles and polite applause. This was soon followed by the sound of benches and chairs being pushed back from tables, along with the murmur of a dozen different conversations breaking out all across the room. The staff and their families began to drift out of the dining hall, heading for the palace doors and the pleasant evening stroll down to the shore for the annual bonfire.

"Well, shall we be off?" the king asked as he turned to his wife and daughter. They were usually the last ones to leave the castle, and their arrival at the water's edge had become the accepted signal to the torchbearers to set the kindling ablaze.

"You two go on," Ellinor answered her husband. "I'll be along shortly. Oh, and don't hold up the fire on my account. There's just one small thing I need to take care of first."

Agdar gave his wife a curious look, but then nodded his understanding. Placing his hand on Anna's shoulder, he began steering her towards the door. The princess looked back over her shoulder and waved to her mother, an excited grin on her face. "Don't be too long, okay?"

Ellinor waved back with a smile of her own. "I won't, sweetheart." She watched her husband and daughter until they passed through the door. Only then did she allow her annoyance to show on her face.

Where on earth were Gerda and Kai? She had seen them earlier, at the start of the celebratory dinner. Kai had been seeing to the seating arrangements and Gerda had naturally supervised the serving of the feast, at least through the main course. Once those tasks had been completed, however, the two had simply vanished. They hadn't shown their faces in the dining hall again the rest of the night.

After all her wheedling and coaxing, Ellinor had thought she'd finally managed to convince them to join the royal family at the head table this year. The sight of the two empty chairs had galled her throughout the meal. It was strange, but the fact that she'd been so exhilarated earlier after her visit with Elsa had only seemed to increase her irritation with their absence. Things had been going so very well, so why did they have to turn around and spoil it?

She couldn't help but feel just a bit insulted by the slight, even though she knew that neither of them could possibly have intended for their absence to be taken that way. Regardless of their intentions, however, the queen was now quite annoyed with the both of them, and she was determined to get some answers.

Of course, they could be anywhere by now. Even if they'd remained in the palace, it was far too large for Ellinor to search on her own and still make it down to the bonfire. So she had made up her mind that she would check what she considered to be the two most likely locations where they might be hiding. If she failed to find them in either place, then she would have to admit defeat for the time being. But friends or not, Kai and Gerda would both get an earful from her tomorrow, make no mistake.

She checked the kitchens first. They were quite empty however, occupied only by the piles of dishes and cutlery from the night's banquet. A few of the junior staff had been given the task of clearing the tables after the last course had been served. Somebody had to do it, after all. Still, for this one night of the year, the actual washing of the tableware would wait until morning. This was a celebration after all, and the king and queen's way of showing their appreciation for the hard work and loyalty of each and every person who worked in the castle.

Given that the steward and the kitchen mistress had continued to insist that their roles in bringing off the annual festival were simply too demanding for them to enjoy it themselves, this would have been the logical place to find them. At the very least, this should have been Gerda's base of operations for the night. The fact that she wasn't here only rankled all the more. It would be bad enough if they had failed to attend the dinner for that reason. If something else had kept them away...

Ellinor's aggravation revealed itself clearly as she turned and left the kitchen. Beyond the obvious glower on her face, her back was ramrod straight. Her hands were curled into fists and her arms, held stiffly at her sides, barely swung at all despite her swift and forceful strides. She loved Gerda dearly, and she'd always considered Kai to be one of the most loyal and selfless men she'd ever known. Right at this moment, however, she was quite ready to engage in some very unladylike behavior should she manage to track them down.

Her angry pace ate up the distance quickly so that, in next to no time, she was standing outside the door to Gerda's quarters. She raised her hand and had poised her knuckles to knock when she heard the faint noise of what sounded like clinking glasses coming from within. So they were in there. Too busy indeed! She felt her ire rising again. Her temper urged her to simply fling the door open and barge straight in, but decorum managed to assert itself instead – albeit just barely.

Setting her jaw and trying not to grind her teeth, Ellinor rapped smartly (and more forcefully than was strictly necessary) upon the door. "Gerda? Kai? I know you're in there. I wish to speak with you this instant."

There was a brief pause. Then Gerda's voice came back in reply. "Well then, do please come in. The door is open."

Perhaps it was her own irritability coloring her perceptions, but the queen thought she heard a flippancy in her friend's voice that almost verged on impertinence. Such a tone would hardly be out of character for the older woman during their private conversations, but she usually showed a little more respect when others were present. The fact that she had not done so now only stoked Ellinor's pique that much more.

Fighting to remain calm despite herself, she opened the door and stepped inside.

Kai and Gerda sat together at the table in the middle of the room. Between them stood two half-full glasses and a bottle of fine wine. They both turned and smiled up at her as she entered, twin pictures of innocence, acting as if they'd simply been awaiting her arrival this entire time.

"Your Majesty," Kai said, rising halfway out of his chair and executing a slight bow. Gerda, for her part, gestured at another empty chair that waited beside the table, inviting the queen to join them. Ellinor, however, remained standing, her arms crossed and her face dour.

"Kai," Gerda declared in a stage whisper clearly intended to be heard by everyone in the room, "I do believe Her Majesty is a little cross with us." Her eyes remained fixed on the queen's face the entire time that she spoke.

"Nonsense," the steward replied with clearly affected indignation. "What possible offense could we have given her on this lovely summer's evening?"

Ellinor opened her mouth to answer the question, but Gerda beat her to it. "I do believe she was under the impression that you and I would be sitting at the high table with her at dinner tonight." She still continued to look steadily at the queen, even though she was clearly addressing her confederate.

Now Kai's poor acting skills made their best attempt at conveying shock. "Oh dear! Whatever would have given her that impression? Try as I might, I truly cannot recall having said anything that might have suggested such an outcome. I'm afraid it must have been you, Gerda my friend. There you go, getting us into trouble once again."

Gerda shook her head, though her gaze remained unwavering. "No, I don't believe I did, Kai, unless Her Majesty misinterpreted something I said in her eagerness to have us join her. If that is the case, then perhaps I should apologize for not speaking as clearly as I ought. Misunderstandings can happen from time to time after all, even between old friends."

Ellinor was quite thoroughly flummoxed by this point. The conversation had not gone at all the way she had envisioned it. For one thing, in her version, she had actually had a part in the dialogue. It had been quite a prominent and impressive part too. For another, the other participants in that imagined exchange had been properly abashed, or at least mildly chagrined. Instead, she somehow found herself feeling like she was on the defensive here, and she was not at all sure how she'd managed to arrive in that position.

Perhaps the worst part, however, was that she'd begun to realize that Gerda was quite possibly right. As she thought back to her earlier conversations with them both, neither had ever actually agreed to attend in so many words. The most she had gotten were evasive maybes and noncommittal phrases like, "Well, we'll see." She had read into those responses what she'd wanted to hear, even though she ought to be old enough and wise enough by now to know better.

Between her ill humor, her sudden wrong-footedness, and her irritation at her own fallibility, she then said something that she would have almost certainly considered to be beneath her under more favorable circumstances.

"I do believe the two of you are both quite drunk."

"Nonsense," Gerda replied. "Despite my sterling reputation, I will freely admit that I have indeed been drunk a few times in my life. However I can assure you, Your Majesty, that _you_ have never seen me drunk. I never particularly liked the sensation, but I know what it feels like well enough to be quite certain that it is not what I am at this moment. As for Kai, I have known him longer even than I have known your mother. I have seen what it takes for him to lose his sobriety, and this entire bottle of wine would not be sufficient for the task.

"No, what we are is two old friends enjoying a quiet drink together. We would be happy to make that three old friends if you would be so kind as to have a seat and stop glaring at us like your girls' old nanny."

Ellinor frowned at Gerda for a moment longer. At last, however, she had to admit even to herself that she had been out-stubborned yet again. With only slightly grudging reluctance, she pulled out the chair that had been offered to her earlier and took a seat.

"I can't stay long," she said immediately, even as Kai rose from his own chair and went to fetch another glass from the small cupboard. "Agdar and Anna and all the rest will be down at the bonfire by now, and they'll be expecting me. I really should be there already." For that reason, when Kai set the glass down on the table before her and began to pour the wine, she gestured for him to stop almost immediately.

"You didn't have to come here then," Gerda pointed out truthfully enough. "Not that we don't enjoy your company, of course," she quickly added, apparently deciding that the time for her acerbity was at an end now that she had won the argument.

"I know," Ellinor replied. "But I did. You know you're like family to me, Gerda. And Kai, this whole place would grind to a halt without you to keep things running smoothly. Is it so wrong that I want to include both of you there as part of this celebration? I just want to show you how much you mean to me and to Agdar and to the girls."

"Then you needn't worry," Kai reassured her. "All of you do that the whole year round. There's no need to worry about whether or not you do it on this one particular night."

"But... it's tradition," the queen replied, trying to make them understand. "It's something Agdar started the very first year he took the throne."

"Ah, but what you see here is a tradition too," Gerda explained as she gestured at the wine and at Kai, "and it's been going on for far longer than yours, I'm afraid."

This brought Ellinor up short. "A tradition? You've had your own personal Midsummer's Eve celebration for all these years?"

Kai and Gerda glanced at each other. "Not exactly," Kai responded for them both. "It's more of a... a commemoration of something that just happened to occur on a Midsummer's Eve many, many years ago. Consider it an anniversary of sorts." Gerda nodded her agreement.

Ellinor looked back and forth between them. "A commemoration? Of what?"

Again, the two looked at each other, but it was Gerda who answered this time. "Of a trip that we took together when we were very young."

"Technically, today would be the anniversary of the end of that trip," Kai clarified. "We returned home on Midsummer's Eve, and that's the day when we've celebrated every year since." He looked down at the wine in his glass. "A few things have changed over the years, of course. That very first year, if I recall correctly, I believe we had apple juice." He and Gerda both smiled nostalgically at the memory.

Ellinor leaned forward in her chair, curiosity now getting the better of her. "You never mentioned anything about a trip like this before, Gerda. And yet it must have been pretty amazing if you continue to mark it after all these years. Where did you go? What did you two do? Come now, I want to hear all about it."

For the first time that evening, the older woman looked uncomfortable. When she did not speak, Kai's voice filled the silence instead. "It was a very long time ago, and we were very different people then. To be perfectly frank, we were little more than children. After all these years, I wouldn't trust my memory of those events well enough to even attempt to explain them to anyone else."

If Kai thought this would dampen the queen's interest, he was sadly mistaken. Although she turned her attention to him now, she couldn't keep herself from glancing back at Gerda as she spoke. "But surely you haven't kept it just between the two of you this entire time, have you? I mean, your wife, Kai – and Gerda's Larse – you told them, right?"

"I thought you had a bonfire to go to," Gerda grumbled, cutting across whatever answer Kai had been about to give. She was not looking at Ellinor, nor at Kai for that matter. This should probably have been a clue to her younger friend that she was venturing out upon treacherous ground with her continued questions. Unfortunately, nothing spurs on inquisitiveness quite as effectively as evasion.

"Gerda," the queen said sounding mildly hurt, "this is me. You can tell me, can't you?" When answers still were not forthcoming, she pressed a little harder... and just a little too far. "There's no need for secrets between friends like us."

The instant the words had passed between her lips, Ellinor recognized the folly in them. Her friend's sharp eyes suddenly snapped up and bored into hers with a fire unlike any she had ever seen there before. Immediately, she felt like a child again, caught in some act of willful disobedience back during that time in her life when the absolute worst punishment imaginable was that look of angry disappointment in her mother's eyes. Tonight, she saw that same expression on Gerda's face, and it made her feel every bit as wretched as she had back then.

"Gerda, I..." the queen began.

The old woman brought her glass to her lips and tipped back her head, draining the last of the liquid in a single swallow. Then she set the empty glass down on the table and stood. "Kai, I think I'll be going down to the bonfire now. Would you care to join me? There's a little princess down there who I'm sure is eager for some company."

In a bit of a panic, Kai looked back and forth between the queen's pained face and his friend's back (for she was turned towards the door and continued to pointedly not face either of them). He sat for a moment in horrified indecision, shocked by the sudden turn the conversation had taken. Then he too finished the last of his wine and stood. "Your Majesty," he said, and accompanied it with a deeper bow than was normally his wont. Hurrying around the table, he opened the door and slipped out into the hall beyond.

Ellinor now sat alone in the room, staring at her nearly empty glass and feeling small enough that she thought she just might crawl into it and hide. A few hours ago, she'd been filled with pride and joy at her younger daughter's thoughtful generosity and her older daughter's quiet regalness. Mere minutes ago, she had been so full of righteous resentment, sure that she had been woefully misused. Now she was left sitting here, ashamed and guilt-ridden, contemplating the amazing ability of a bruised human ego to blindly ignore its own transgressions.

"Are you coming?"

Gerda's voice almost startled her, but not because it was particularly loud or harsh. No, if anything, it was surprisingly quiet and calm, which was just about the last thing she would have expected.

She twisted around in her seat. Her friend stood framed in the doorway, maintaining a pose that seemed calculated to be as neutral as possible, betraying no sign whatsoever of what she might be feeling. Ellinor just stared, feeling like anything she might say would surely sound as childish as she felt at that moment.

"You're not wrong," Gerda continued, her steady voice matching her body language. "We are family. But that does not mean we can't have things that we each feel are too personal to share. What it _does_ mean is that we will stick by one another, no matter what. Family are the ones who are still there even after everyone else has gone. You were there for me when Larse passed away. I've tried my best to be here for you too. And we will all be there for Elsa and Anna whenever they need us.

"Even if being family also means putting your faith in someone who can infuriate you like no other living person you will ever meet."

Ellinor recognized the offer of truce and accepted it gratefully. She stood and walked to the door, where Gerda stepped aside to let her pass. Kai had already hurried off, eager to distance himself from the fray, so the two women were left to walk silently together through the now deserted palace. An undercurrent of tension still lingered between them, until Gerda spoke again.

"My apologies for being so brusque with you, Your Majesty. It was uncalled for and out of line."

"No, it was not," Ellinor admitted. "It was perfectly understandable and justified. No one takes kindly to having their honesty called into question. Although, come to think of it, I never did quite get around to doing that, did I?" Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Gerda's lips twitch just a little as she tried to remain stern-faced. "Not that I wouldn't have if I'd been given the chance. So please, allow me offer my apologies to you instead."

Gerda harrumphed, but the lines of her face softened. "Given all the years we've known each other, we've done rather well to have as few spats as we have. I should be quite glad if any future ones are over matters as trivial as this was. Easily sparked, but just as easily forgotten. After all," and now she did grace her friend with a maternal smile, "family forgives."

By this time, they had passed through the castle gates and were nearing the far end of the bridge that connected their little island to the town proper. Ellinor couldn't help it; her friend's words had resonated with her far more deeply than intended. She stopped and turned to look back at the palace, her eyes drawn to the tall central spire. She could see no lights in the windows, but then she wouldn't expect to. If Elsa were there watching, like she had done the year before, any glimmer from inside would have only reflected off the glass and obstructed her view.

She wanted to wave to her daughter or give some sign of greeting. With the street lamps lit all along the bridge, she would certainly be seen. But she found herself feeling incredibly self-conscious. Tonight's talk of secrets and forgiveness had left her in a very peculiar mood, and she didn't seem to know quite how to deal with it.

"I hope you're right," she said softly in response to Gerda's last comment. "By everything that is good and holy in this world, I hope that you are right."

At last, she turned to look at her dear friend. She was quite startled to find herself pinned once again under Gerda's penetrating gaze. Had she been watching her so closely this entire time? Something that reflected from deep within the old woman's eyes seemed to suggest that she understood perfectly well everything that had just been going through the queen's head. Perhaps Gerda had intended far more with her words than Ellinor had given her credit for.

The queen refused to squirm under that shrewd stare, though her body reflexively wanted to. She had to endure it for several uncomfortable seconds before the older woman finally seemed satisfied. At last, Gerda turned away... but not towards the docks and the path down to the bonfire. Instead, she turned back to the palace, lifting her eyes as Ellinor had done moments earlier. Then she lifted one hand high over her head as well.

With her other arm, she dug her elbow sharply into the queen's side. Ellinor jumped, her eyes opening wide. She looked at the familiar profile for a moment, and she added a new and deeper level to her already considerable admiration for the unassuming matron. Then she too raised her hand toward the spire, waving it gently back and forth. She hoped Elsa saw them both and knew that she was in their hearts.

At last, she lowered her arm and turned to complete the long-delayed journey down to the shore. As she did so, however, she caught Gerda smiling at her with such a look of mingled pride and compassion on her face that, for just an instant, Ellinor thought it was her own mother looking back at her.

Before she could completely recover, Gerda took a step closer and slipped her arm through the queen's. "Come, Your Majesty. We must be getting along. We have kept everyone waiting for far too long already, don't you know."

As they resumed their walk, arm-in-arm, Ellinor couldn't resist the compulsion to ask the almost inevitable question. "Gerda, I'm begging you. Won't you please..."

"Not tonight, Your Majesty."

The two women were still laughing when they reached the site of the already roaring bonfire. No sooner had they arrived than Anna darted out through the crowded tangle of bodies. Grabbing her mother in one hand and Gerda in the other, she began tugging mightily on their arms, trying to drag them in closer to the crackling blaze. "Come on, come on," she called out impatiently. "You're missing all the fun!"

Their laughter mingled with all the other sounds of celebration as they finally allowed themselves to be pulled into the circle of warmth and light and family.


	42. Head, Heart, and Hand

The king and queen sat together in the dining room, even though breakfast would not yet be served for another hour at least. They spoke in hushed voices.

"This still doesn't feel right," Ellinor said yet again

Agdar sighed. "Yes, I know. But what else are we supposed to do?"

Her frown deepened. "I don't know. I just don't see how doing nothing can possibly be the right answer."

"Look, we both agreed it had to be up to her, had to be her decision."

"I didn't expect her to make such a nonsensical decision!"

"I doubt it's so nonsensical from her point of view. She's old enough and intelligent enough to know what she wants. At least that's what you keep telling me. If this is her choice, then she must have her reasons."

"And I'd be willing to accept that, if not for the fact that she couldn't give us a good answer when we asked her why she wanted to do things this way."

"Couldn't or wouldn't? Like it or not, Ellinor, we're living in a house of secrets now. Is it really so surprising that such an environment would rub off on our daughters?"

"I suppose not, but that only makes it all the more depressing. This isn't the way things ought to be, Agdar."

The king allowed himself a short, dark laugh. "You have a gift for understatement, my dear. Then again, where is this definition of what life ought to be? It's rare that one's personal opinions on that subject ever coincide with reality. Life simply is. Those of us living it are little more than boats upon the ocean. We can set the tiller and trim the sails, and with a little skill and even more luck, we might be able to steer ourselves more or less where we'd like to go. In the end, though, we're ultimately at the mercy of the wind and the waves, and you never know when the next storm will suddenly appear."

Ellinor stared at her husband in obvious surprise. "I thought Elsa and I were the bookworms in this family. When did you become so philosophical?"

He smiled wryly. "I've found myself having a great deal to think about these last few years, and more time than is probably healthy to indulge in such thoughts. It's a little bit frightening the philosophies that one can dream up while lying awake in bed during the darkest hours of the night."

The queen nodded her sympathetic understanding. "All of that may be true," she then said, attempting to return to the original subject, "but it still doesn't change how much I dislike this. It feels like a step backward."

Agdar shrugged. "Maybe it is. But maybe this is one of those times where you have to go back before you can move forward."

Ellinor gave her partner a nasty look. "Sometimes, Agdar, I swear you just take whatever position is opposite mine simply for the sake of being difficult."

Looking a little chagrined, the king averted his gaze. "There's probably an uncomfortable amount of truth to that," he admitted. "Being able to look at all sides of an issue is a skill I've tried to cultivate as a leader. Playing devil's advocate is a useful way to do so. I've come to find that, whenever I don't make that effort, I all too often live to regret it. This time last year was one such shining example."

He looked back at his wife again. "For whatever it's worth, though, I agree with you. I don't understand this decision, and I don't believe it's the best choice. But I also can't help but feel that attempting to overrule it would be even worse. It would only show that we don't trust her judgment in such matters. We made our arguments, we attempted to persuade her, right up until the last minute. If this is still what she wants, then I think we'll simply have to abide by it."

Ellinor tried to find a fault in his reasoning that she could latch on to, something that she could use to refute his logic. The fact that she couldn't did nothing to improve her outlook on the situation. "It just makes no sense," she lamented at last. "If only I could understand why, then maybe I could accept it. But why would Elsa refuse any celebration of her birthday whatsoever? And how will we explain this to Anna?"

Agdar started to reply, but was cut off by a sound from the doorway.

"Mama, Papa..."

The king and the queen turned to look at their daughter.

• • •

Anna had woken up early that morning. It hadn't been that dozy sort of half-wakefulness either, the kind that could usually be cured by rolling over and thinking sleepy thoughts. No, she had gone straight to full alertness the instant she had registered the new day. Then try as she might, she simply could not get back to sleep. Her mind was far too busy contemplating the possibilities of the hours that lay ahead.

After all, today was Elsa's birthday!

Of course, she couldn't easily forget what had happened exactly one year ago on this day. That should have been enough to temper her enthusiasm. Still, so much had changed since then. Papa, for starters. He had been distant so often in those days, but not now. There had been her sword fighting lessons and her horseback riding, for starters. He laughed more freely and more often, and he seemed to spend more time with Elsa too.

And Elsa had certainly changed. After all, she was talking to Anna now – carrying on actual, real live conversations! Even with the door between them, they felt so close again. It was so amazing that Anna was sometimes convinced she had to be dreaming it all.

Now it was Elsa's special day again. Last year, even though they had been so much further apart, they'd still had an amazing morning together before... well, before it was over. So what might not happen today?

Her head told her to remain sensible and not to get her hopes up. It reminded her that change does not come easily and that when it does come, it isn't always for the best. It pointed out that she had no logical reason to expect today to be any different from any other day.

Her heart, however, believed that dreams could come true, even if they sometimes need a little push to get started. It knew that time might heal all wounds, but that love was the balm that salved those wounds and allowed the healing to happen. And her heart felt certain that today of all days, anything was possible.

Of the two, Anna knew which one she trusted more.

Eventually abandoning all pretense of getting back to sleep, she finally hopped out from under the covers and very nearly skipped over to her wardrobe. After a quick glance inside, she grabbed the dress that was the brightest, happiest shade of green she had. Tossing her nightclothes onto the bed, she began to pull the garment on over her head.

This took a bit longer than she had anticipated since, in her haste, she'd accidentally managed to put it on back-to-front. It didn't bother her in the slightest, though. Today, it only made her laugh as she pulled her arms back in and spun the dress around.

That little mistake corrected, she inspected herself in her mirror. Hmm... Her braids were definitely looking a little frazzled. Well, since she was up so early, she might as well take the time to redo them. She wanted to look her best today, because you just never knew what might happen. Pulling a chair over, she set to work.

When she finished, she stood once again and admired her handiwork. She twisted back and forth, watching both her skirt and her pigtails swish about playfully. She doubted that she'd ever grow into the stately grace that her mother wore so effortlessly. That particular trait seemed to have been passed exclusively to Elsa, but Anna didn't mind. She wasn't going to be queen, after all, and that suited her just fine. Being a princess was more than enough... and, in her mind, seemed like a lot more fun anyway.

Satisfied that she was as ready as she was going to be, she looked out the window and tried to gauge the time. Would Elsa be awake yet? Come to think of it, she really didn't know what time her sister normally got up each day. Was she an early riser? Or did she stay up later than she was supposed to, like Anna often did, only to be dragged to wakefulness the next morning by the sound of an impatient voice calling from the hall?

Well, if it was the latter, then at least Anna could make sure it was a friendly voice that did the waking this morning.

Exiting her room, she immediately set off toward her sister's door. It was such a well-trodden path for her by now that she kept wondering how much longer it would be before her footsteps wore a permanent groove into the maroon carpeting that covered these floors.

At first, the thoughts she'd been entertaining earlier about her mother's and sister's elegance and poise led her, on a whim, to try to capture some of that regal bearing in her own walk, just to see if she could. This only lasted until she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass front of a curio cabinet, however. The sight of her own freckled face attempting to look dignified merely brought forth a fit of giggles. She covered the remaining distance in her usual lighthearted manner, all the happier for it.

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

"Happy Birthday, Elsa!" she called out brightly. She hoped she wasn't being too loud, not wanting to startle her sister if she was, in fact, still asleep. "You're eleven today! Of course, you already knew that, I'm sure, since you can count and everything. But I just wanted to be the first one to let you know. That it's your birthday. Not to let you know that you can count, because you already know that. And you most likely already know that it's your birthday too. So I guess that I really wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy one! A happy birthday, that is. Which I did. So now you know."

Anna stopped. She was even confusing herself now. Clearly, that had not gone quite the way she had intended. Still, she didn't care. Instead, she just grinned at her own typical tongue tripping. "Well, hopefully you know what I meant anyway," she said. "I just wanted to wish you all the best, Elsa. I hope you have a wonderful day today!"

She listened for her sister's response, bouncing up and down on her toes as she waited. Then she waited a little longer. Her bouncing slowed and eventually stopped. Confusion intruded into the giddy happiness that had dominated her features all morning.

"Elsa?" she inquired, stepping forward until she was only a handspan away from the door. "Are you in there? I'm sorry if I woke you. Or are you still asleep? Well, I mean, if you're asleep, I guess you can't exactly answer the question. But then, if you can sleep through all the racket I'm making..." She laughed lightly, hoping to hear her sister join in her self-deprecating humor.

She paused again to listen, and now she was starting to get worried. "Are you okay, Elsa? Is... is everything alright? I didn't... I hope I didn't say anything to upset you, did I? I didn't mean to. If I did, then I'm sorry."

Silence answered her. "Elsa? Elsa, please, say something. Anything! Just... let me know you're there, okay?

"If you want me to leave, then I'll... I'll go. But please, Elsa. I just... tell me, please. I need to know!"

She pressed her ear against the door, desperate to hear even the slightest sound. None came.

"Elsa? Elsa!"

Tears were rolling down her cheeks now. Panic gripped her chest. What was going on? Was her sister shutting her out again? Or was she sick or hurt? She could be lying in bed, delirious with fever. How would she know?

Her hand reached out to the door handle. Her fingertips brushed the curved metal, but then she hesitated. She couldn't know. There could be any number of reasons for her sister's silence. And in all of the scenarios she'd considered, nothing she could do would help. In fact, just attempting to barge in like that might only make matters worse.

No, she needed to find Mother and Father. She would tell them, and they would know what to do. It had to be nearly breakfast time by now. They'd be down in the dining room, so that's where she needed to be.

Turning away from the door, Anna sprinted through the corridors as fast as her legs could carry her. She raced down the staircase, catching herself on the railing once when she tripped in her haste and nearly tumbled down the rest of the flight. Skidding around the corner at the bottom, she bolted down the hall until she finally reached the dining room. Feeling a sharp stitch in her side, she leaned heavily against the door frame, closing her eyes momentarily as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Mama, Papa..." she gasped. "It's Elsa."

"Yes, dear. It is."

The words seemed to get tangled up on the way to Anna's brain. They made no sense. The correct response should have been something along the lines of, "What about Elsa?" This phrase didn't fit at all, and she didn't have time to try to understand it. She had to make her parents understand instead.

At least her breathing had returned to something a little closer to normal now. Inhaling deeply, she opened her mouth and her eyes.

Both opened even wider. At the table sat her father and her mother, looking at her with happy, if slightly dumbfounded, expressions. But in the chair between them, looking a little guilty and more than a little nervous, sat...

"Elsa?"

Anna felt her knees threatening to buckle. Only the fact that she was still leaning against the doorpost kept her upright. She didn't know how to react. Part of her wanted to run over and throw her arms around her sister, embracing her as she'd longed to do for the past three years. Another part of her wanted to run over and smack Elsa for having driven her into such a terrified panic.

All of her wanted an explanation.

It was fortunate that all of these feelings showed plainly on her face, because words hadn't quite managed to catch up with her emotions yet. The king, taking pity on her, arose from his seat and walked to the door. She numbly allowed him to lead her back to the table, where he lifted her up and deposited her in the chair he had so recently vacated. Then he sat down in the seat beside her.

The entire time, Anna's eyes never left her sister's face. For her part, Elsa couldn't seem to decide where to look: at Anna or at her gloved hands folded in her lap. It was a long minute before anybody spoke.

"I went to your room," Anna finally said in a weak and shaky voice. "I just wanted to say Happy Birthday. When you didn't answer, I thought... Well, I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what had happened, if you were still asleep or sick or..."

Elsa's already pale skin blanched even further. Her eyes grew round as she finally looked straight at her sister, realization dawning across her expression. Her hands began spasmodically curling into fists and then relaxing, over and over.

"Oh, Anna," she breathed. "I'm so sorry. I never meant to... I just wanted to surprise you. To surprise everyone. I thought it would be..." Her voice trailed off hopelessly. Her eyes, however, continued to speak, pleading for her sister's understanding and forgiveness.

"She didn't even tell us," Agdar said softly, hoping to soothe Anna's hurt feelings. "She only said that she didn't want to do anything to celebrate her birthday this year, no matter how hard we tried to convince her otherwise. We only found out a few minutes before you did, when your sister showed up here in the dining room."

Elsa nodded. "And I really did mean that. I don't want any special party or anything. I just... I thought that I could spend some time with you. With all of you. You know, just being... normal. For once."

Her eyes fell, and she seemed to realize for the first time that her hands were still clenching and unclenching fitfully. With an effort, she stilled them and folded them once again neatly upon her knees. A shuddering breath shook her shoulders, and she closed her eyes.

They flew open an instant later when she felt something press lightly upon the back of her gloves. Her eyes followed the fingers, to the hand and to the wrist, beyond that to the elbow and the shoulder, then up the neck until she reached the head and the face.

The face of her little sister, who was looking at her with such fierce love in her eyes that Elsa thought her heart might burst.

"Who says we aren't normal?" Anna asked. "You just let me know, and I'll give him a few personal lessons in swordsmanship."

"Anna!" the queen exclaimed, sounding scandalized. "That is not proper behavior for a princess."

The redheaded girl only grinned, then winked at her sister and, leaning in close to her ear, whispered so that only she could hear, "We know better, don't we?"

Elsa felt her entire body relax as all the tension disappeared in that one instant. She grinned back, trying to come up with the right words to convey to Anna everything she was feeling just then. Her sister spoke first, however.

"Happy Birthday, Elsa."

"Thank you, Anna," Elsa replied.

They were such simple words, she reflected. And yet, they pretty much covered exactly what she was feeling.

• • •

The queen hurried off to intercept Gerda and the kitchen staff before they delivered the morning meal. She informed them only that the royal family desired privacy this morning, and that she would take the food herself, including the plates that were bound for Elsa's room. Perhaps she would tell her old friend the full story later. For the moment, however, she wanted this time to belong just to her and her family. So, after leaving clear instructions that they were not to be disturbed for anything short of a declaration of war, she returned to the dining room with the large and heavily laden serving tray.

Anna immediately helped herself to large portions of everything. She didn't let the presence of food slow her down one bit, however. From the minute she'd come to terms with her sister's little surprise, she'd begun to talk almost nonstop. Even though the two had been chatting together for almost six months now, the sudden opportunity to do so face to face had apparently opened the flood gates. Anna seemed to be trying to squeeze in three years of socializing into thirty minutes.

At first, Agdar and Ellinor tried to slip in a few comments of their own. It didn't take long, however, for them to realize that doing so was merely an exercise in futility, at least until their younger daughter ran out of steam. Now they watched bemusedly, enjoying their breakfast as Anna rambled on excitedly.

Elsa, for her part, nibbled distractedly on a few pieces of toast covered in sweet jam. She was too enthralled by her sister's manic energy to have much attention to spare for her own appetite. She watched as Anna shoved a forkful of eggs into her mouth with barely a pause in the rhythm of her conversation, vaguely impressed that not a single fleck of food came flying back out.

This continued for several minutes more until Anna at last paused to take a sip of water. Only then, as she peeked over the rim of her glass, did she realize that her mother, father, and sister were all staring at her with looks that ranged from amused to somewhat awed. Abruptly self-conscious, Anna suddenly spluttered as her drink slipped down her windpipe. By the time she recovered, her cheeks were glowing scarlet.

"I'm sorry," she squeaked meekly. "I didn't mean to do all the talking. It's just that I'm so excited, and when I get excited, I talk. And talk and talk. And then I can't stop talking because the whole thing suddenly takes on a life of its own and I can't figure out how to end it because I forget what I was talking about in the first place or whatever point it was that I was trying to make. And so I just keep going, hoping I'll eventually get somewhere that makes sense or at least seems to ring a bell, and then maybe I can get back on topic and finish what it was that I was trying to say in the first place, but instead I only get further off into the weeds until I..."

Anna's eyes widened in dismay before she covered her face with her hands. The blush crept on up to her forehead. Peeking out from between her fingers, she mumbled, "Sorry."

Her mother laughed brightly. Her father chuckled. Elsa just smiled. "That's alright," she assured her sister. "I don't mind, really."

"No," Anna said, dropping her hands and thrusting out her chin in determination. "This is your birthday. You should be the one getting all the attention, not me. So I'll just shut up now and let you talk for a while, okay?"

As far as Elsa was concerned, she had been perfectly fine with letting Anna talk as much as she liked. She had never been particularly comfortable being the center of attention. She was even more reserved than their soft-spoken mother, and nowhere near as gregarious as her sister. Even here, surrounded by just her family, she found herself at an awkward loss for any topic that might be even the slightest bit interesting. It wasn't like her closeted life provided an abundant source of fascinating anecdotes. Nor could she exactly announce, "You know, I made the most amusing ice sculpture the other day!"

"Um," she began blindly. "I don't know that I have all that much to talk about, really. I guess... Well, I suppose there's my drawing. I've still been sketching, you know. I don't think you'll ever see any of my work hanging in anyone's portrait gallery, but I enjoy doing it. I like looking back sometimes to see how far I've come in just the last year." _And not just with my pencils_, she thought to herself. "I suppose I owe that to you, Anna. They were your gift, after all."

"Well, it wasn't all me," her sister admitted. "I mean, I had the idea, but Mama helped me find the perfect set and she's the one who placed the actual order."

Elsa smiled again. "I didn't exactly imagine you'd bought them yourself,"she replied, then hurriedly added, "Not that you couldn't have if you'd wanted to, I'm sure," when she saw Anna beginning to look a touch slighted.

"Still, thank you both for the wonderful present. They've helped me pass many quiet hours in my room." She just barely managed to keep herself from saying, "lonely hours," not wanting to put a damper on this happy morning. "Actually, in a way, I've almost enjoyed them too much. A few of my favorite pencils have been worn down to little more than nubs by now," she admitted a little sheepishly.

At this, Anna grinned. "Oh good!" She looked positively relieved at the news.

Elsa blinked. Good? She was confused. It certainly wasn't good as far as her cramped fingers were concerned.

Her sister's smile only broadened. "I thought that had to be the case by now. Mama, Papa, may I be excused to..."

"Why don't you stay here with Elsa," her father interrupted. "I need to grab something from our room anyway, so I can take care of your little errand while I'm at it. That is, if you don't mind."

Now Anna turned to smile at her father. "That would be perfect, Papa! Thank you so much."

"My pleasure," Agdar said as he rose to his feet. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Now don't you go sneaking off on me while I'm gone." He said the last with a smile and directed it at all three of the ladies in his life. But his eyes lingered longest on Elsa.

"We won't," she assured him. Nodding, he turned and walked briskly out of the room.

Ellinor, recognizing that her older daughter was struggling to lead the conversation, stepped in and spared her the need to come up with another topic. "You know, the one downside to your sneaky little plan, Elsa, is that you were just a little too convincing. I told Gerda that she didn't need to bake a cake this year. She didn't want to listen, of course. She insisted for the longest time that every birthday deserved a proper cake, no matter what. I suppose, though, if you wouldn't mind waiting, I could let her know that you've changed your mind. I'm sure she could whip something up in no time."

"No," Elsa replied, doing what she hoped was a credible job at hiding her disappointment, especially as she remembered Gerda's exquisite confection from the year before. "That's alright. I knew that was likely to happen, but I wanted to surprise you more than I wanted cake."

"Well then, maybe we can come up with a different treat instead." The queen pondered for a moment. "You know, I always keep a small box of assorted chocolates squirreled away – just for emergencies, mind you. I do believe this might qualify." She smiled as she watched the faces of both her daughters light up at the notion.

The three chocolate lovers were still comparing notes about their favorite types of dainties when there came a knock at the door. Actually, it was something more like an awkward thump, followed by the sound of the king's voice. "A little help, please?"

Anna bounded out of her chair and scampered over to open the door. Her father walked in, carefully balancing two wrapped parcels on one arm. In his other hand sat a silver serving dish with a matching lid that covered its contents. Walking carefully, he crossed to the table and set all three items down in front of Elsa. As he straightened up, he explained.

"I was on my way back from picking these up," and he gestured at the two packages, "when I ran into Gerda in the hall. I was curious what she was doing up in the residence at this time of the morning. When I asked, she gave me the oddest look and only answered, 'Celebrating the Princess's birthday.' Then she left. I had no idea what that meant, but I thought I ought to go and check. I found that," and he pointed at the covered platter, "sitting in the hallway just outside Elsa's door."

Ellinor knew, of course, and she smiled at her dear friend's impeccable foresight. Or was it her unerring stubbornness? Sometimes the two could be difficult to tell apart. "Well, girls," she asked. "what will it be first? Presents or dessert?"

Anna and Elsa looked at each other. Anna raised her eyebrows, indicating that it was her sister's birthday and her choice. Elsa only shrugged. So together, they turned to examine the items on the table. An enticing aroma wafted heavily to their noses from beneath the silver enclosure. Closing their eyes, they both inhaled deeply. The matter was immediately decided by unspoken consent.

"Chocolate!" they both chorused to their mother.

The cake was every bit as amazing as it had been the year before. Even Agdar, who had never quite shared the same obsessive appreciation for all things cocoa that his wife and daughters enjoyed, had to admit that it was simply exquisite. In fact, he was attempting to slip a second slice onto his plate when Ellinor slapped him playfully on the wrist.

"No, dear," she chided him. "There'll be time for that later. I think Elsa has waited long enough for her gifts, don't you?"

Anna immediately began squirming in her chair. "Oh, open mine first! Open mine! It's the one on the bottom."

Elsa obliged. Scooting forward on her seat, she lifted the top parcel and carefully set it to the side. Then she pulled Anna's present into her lap and proceeded to undo the wrapping paper. Inside was a lovely wooden box with hinges and a latch on it, very similar to the one she'd received from Anna the year before. This one was much larger, however. Flipping the catch, she gently swung it open.

There looked to be half again as many pencils in this collection as in her previous set, but those only covered one side of the box. The other side was what really drew her attention, however, for it was awash in color. Dozens of pastel sticks were neatly slotted into place, each and every one a different shade and hue. As she gazed at them, amazed, she felt like she was holding a rainbow in her hands.

"I figured some of your pencils had to be getting pretty worn out already," Anna was saying. "So I thought about getting you another set just like the one I got last year. But then I decided that I wanted to do something a little more special. When Mother found this, I knew it would be perfect, even though I'd never be able to slip it under the door to you. I figured Mama or Papa could deliver it for me. It was more important to me that you have it, even if I couldn't give it to you myself. I never dreamed that..." Her voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished because the very fact that she was sitting next to her sister at that moment said it all.

"Thank you, Anna." Elsa looked up and beamed at her little sister. "This is perfect. You're perfect. I mean..." She began scrambling to clarify herself when Anna turned away, looking completely embarrassed. Then she changed her mind. "No, I meant just what I said. Anna, you're the perfect sister. I mean it. Please, don't ever change."

Anna looked back at her, astonished but no longer abashed. After a moment, she gave Elsa a second gift when she grinned and nodded. "I'll do my best."

The two just sat there for a while, more than happy to simply share in that sisterly communion. That is until Anna, her endless curiosity no longer able to restrain itself, finally glanced over at the remaining package still sitting on the table. "Um, shouldn't you open your other present too?"

Laughing, Elsa closed and latched the art box, then set it upon the table and picked up the other parcel. It had a much smaller footprint than her sister's gift, but was considerably taller. The plain box was wrapped only with a ribbon and bow. Now curious herself, she found a loose end and, with a tug, pulled the brightly colored streamer away. Opening the top of the box, she looked inside and gasped.

"What is it?" Anna asked, craning in her seat to try to catch a peak inside. Elsa didn't answer right away. Instead, she reached down into the bottom of the box and ever so carefully lifted out its contents.

The white lacquer shown brilliantly in the morning sunlight that poured in through the nearby windows. Inlays of purple and blue adorned the top and sides, in patterns that both princesses immediately recognized from Elsa's bedroom door. The detailing was unbelievably fine, right down to the powder blue sprays of tiny petals that curled around the violet gyres.

"We custom ordered it from Sainte-Croix several months ago," the king explained. "We were very exacting in our specifications. We wanted to make sure it would be absolutely perfect."

"Go on," their mother prompted. "Open it."

Only then did Elsa turn the box around and realize that yes, there were indeed tiny hinges beneath what she now saw was the lid. The craftsmanship was so fine, the seam was barely visible. Slowly, she tipped the top open.

Inside, a tiny golden bloom slowly spun round and round – a crocus, symbol of rebirth and the official crest of Arendelle. And as it turned, gentle chime-like music drifted up to tickle her ears. The melody was beautiful, uplifting, and... oddly familiar. She struggled to place where she had heard it before.

Anna made the connection first. "Is that... Is that Marie's song?"

Elsa started in surprise. Then she listened again more intently, and it finally became clear. Yes, it was the same music. Of course, it sounded much different that it had when played on violin. And the box hadn't started at the beginning, with the sunrise as she had thought of it. Nevertheless, she now could pick out the patterns. There were the birds flitting from flower to flower. There was the wind, breathing through the grasses. It was all there, exactly as it had been before, only... different.

"Anna told me about how much you liked that piece when Marie played it for you, Elsa," their mother said quietly, "and that it was the first time you really spoke to each other through the door. So when we had this idea, we sent for Mr. Odegaard and told him that we wanted to put it into a music box. Unfortunately, the entire thing can't fit into one this size, and some of the passages wouldn't have translated well anyway. Nevertheless, he agreed to adapt it for us as best he could, and we included his sheet music as part of the commission."

Both princesses sat, enraptured by the music. Agdar and Ellinor looked at each other over their daughters' heads, sharing in thought the words that they had so often repeated to each other when they'd begun putting this plan into motion. _O__ne's emotional state will have a tremendous impact on one's control. __Have you ever been moved by a picture or a song? __T__here are those who contend that music is merely a form of magic._

Perhaps it was an unorthodox way to interpret the old troll's wisdom. Yet was it not also said that, "Music hath charms to soothe"? This melody had moved Elsa so deeply the very first time she'd heard it that she had actually spoken to Anna and Marie all those long months ago. Surely that was a sign of something important. Might it not help her again should she ever find herself growing upset and on the verge of losing control? Plus, she would always be able to keep the box near to her, even during those times when her parents could not be.

It had been the best idea they'd been able to imagine. Only time would tell if it would actually work.

The music wound down and stopped. Both girls looked slightly grief stricken at the subsequent silence. Elsa closed the lid and reopened it, but nothing happened.

"Oh, there's a key on the bottom of the box," Agdar explained. "You need to turn it to wind up the springs inside."

The princess lifted the box to eye height, tipping it slightly so she could peer underneath. Seeing the key, she began turning it, careful not to overstress the mechanism. When she lifted the lid, the music began to play again.

Her eyes drifted closed, the better to lose herself amid the dancing notes. She barely breathed, not wanting to disturb the melody's gentle spell. It was strange, the way she felt like she had returned to a place to which she had never actually been. If she let herself, she could almost believe that she was being lifted out of her body and carried far away to that beautiful, enchanted meadow under the warm spring sun.

Even when the box stopped playing a second time, it took Elsa a moment to find her way back again. Silently, almost reverently, she closed the lid. There was no other sound in the room as she sat and stared at the exquisite gift she held in her hands.

"Elsa," Anna finally whispered. "Could I...? Would you mind if...?" Elsa nodded and handed the precious box to her little sister, who took it from her with exaggerated care, as if it were made of glass. The younger girl held it in her own lap then, not turning the key or even opening the lid. She just looked at it, lost in her own thoughts and the memories of the friend who had first introduced those notes into their lives.

Elsa looked over her sister's head at her father. Then she turned and gazed at her mother sitting beside her. She tried to speak, tried to put into words all the feelings that were swirling within her. She swallowed, unsure even where to start. It was impossible. Words couldn't begin to convey everything their gift meant to her. She could not yet even sort it all out herself.

Still, she felt foolish just sitting there mutely. To buy herself a few seconds, she reached out to the table and grasped her glass of water. Lifting it to her lips, she took a shaky sip, hoping it might clear the tight knot of emotion constricting her throat. As she lowered the drink, she could feel her hand trembling a little. She heard the ice rattle against the sides of the glass. Then she turned to her mother again and opened her mouth to at least make some attempt at expressing her gratitude.

The queen was not looking back at her, however. Her eyes had grown quite wide and were staring down at her daughter's lap. Elsa followed their gaze. A second later, the worshipful stillness of the room was shattered. So was her glass as it fell from her nerveless fingers and slammed into the floor.

There had been no ice floating in the water when she had first picked it up. Now, it was almost impossible to tell which of the sparkling shards skittering across the floorboards would soon melt away. To Elsa, it hardly mattered. She felt like every single sliver would surely cut her to the quick.

She stared at her empty hands in disbelief. How could this have happened? She was wearing her gloves! That should have been enough. It had been for so very long now. She didn't understand. It made no sense. One of the precious few things she'd enjoyed any certainty about was now melting on the floor beneath her feet.

New emotions began to swell within her chest, panic chief among them. She looked up at her mother, her eyes begging for a way out. "Go," the queen mouthed in silent understanding, pity for her daughter coloring her every feature.

"Ex-excuse me," Elsa gasped, trying to hold back her terror for just a few seconds longer. Then her feet hit the floor and she ran. An instant later, she was out the door and racing down the hallway. She heard her sister cry out her name, but that only made her legs churn even faster. Tears streamed from her eyes, blurring her vision. Several times she stumbled, barely managing to keep her feet beneath her. She heard no sounds of pursuit, but the thought of Anna possibly catching up to her drove her relentlessly onward. She took the stairs two at a time, slammed her shoulder painfully into the wall as she tried to turn the corner too quickly. Then she was at her door, fumbling at the handle with fingers made clumsy by her fear and confusion. Finally, she managed to get it open. Nearly falling into her room, she slammed the door shut behind her. She slumped to the floor, gasping and sobbing.

Again, she stared at her traitorous hands. The gloves seemed to mock her. There was no sign of ice on the supple fabric – not even a hint of frost. What had just happened?

Carefully, tremulously, she stretched out a single finger and pressed it against the floor. Nothing changed. She laid her entire hand against a stretch of exposed wood and pressed down as hard as she could. Still, everything remained perfectly normal.

Getting unsteadily to her feet, she crossed the room with small, fearful steps, until she stood before her wash basin. She lifted the pitcher of water, grasping it with both hands. A few seconds passed before she realized her eyes had slammed shut. Cracking one open, she peered down into the tall vessel. The water sloshed around, perfectly undisturbed.

Elsa felt her initial panic finally beginning to recede in the face of this apparent return to normalcy, but her confusion was only growing all the stronger. She grasped the jug's handle and poured water into her basin. Setting the pitcher down, she considered the small pool of water. Slowly and deliberately, she began tugging at the fingers of the glove on her right hand. Once it was fully exposed, she clenched it firmly for a moment. Then, taking care to still maintain a tight hold on her magic, she relaxed her grip and brushed her fingertips across the surface of the water. The ripples bounced off the edges of the bowl, returning and colliding in intricate patterns of light and shadow.

Taking a deep breath, she plunged her entire hand into the basin. The water lapped about her wrist, perfectly content to remain liquid. Actually, it clung to a comfortable warmth from the heat of the summer's day.

At last, she withdrew her hand, although her gaze still perplexedly followed the tiny waves in the water. She began to absentmindedly dry her fingers in her small towel, more uncertain than ever about what it was she had just experienced.

That was when the knock came, along with the sound of a voice calling her name. It was her mother.

She quickly tugged her glove back on before she replied, "Come in, Mother." There was still a hint of a quaver in her voice, but only a hint. Fear was giving way to puzzlement and chagrin. Perhaps she had overreacted. It had only been a bit of ice in a glass of water, after all. Cause for concern, maybe; a little additional care, certainly. But had it really been worth panicking everyone like this?

Her head was clear enough now to consider such things. She tried not to pay too much attention to her racing heart, which still pounded furiously in her chest.

The door opened just far enough for the queen's head to poke into the room. "Are you alright, sweetheart?" she asked cautiously.

"I think so," Elsa answered. "I don't know what happened. I didn't even realize that anything _was_ happening, at first. It was so strange. I've never experienced anything like that before."

The queen looked at her daughter appraisingly for a few seconds before she shouldered the door open far enough to allow her to step inside. "I brought your presents," she said. Sure enough, she held the brown art box in both of her hands with the white music box perched on top.

Now embarrassment claimed center stage in Elsa's cavalcade of emotions. "Oh, Anna," she moaned. "I'm so sorry, Mother. I didn't mean to ruin everything. She must be so upset right now."

"Don't you worry about that," Ellinor reassured her. "Your sister was disappointed, of course, but she isn't the little girl that she used to be. Well, not as little, at any rate. After you left, we began explaining to her what a big step you'd tried taking today, and how hard it must have been for you. But as we went on, I began to realize that we really needn't have bothered, because she seemed to already understand. I'm certain she was happy just to have spent the time with you that she did."

Elsa visibly relaxed. "Thank you, Mother. And thank Father for me too. For the music box, for your understanding, for helping with Anna, for... Well, for everything."

"That's what parents do, Elsa. Sisters too, for that matter. And you really were so very brave, to do what you did today. You have no idea how proud your father and I are of you."

The princess smiled meekly. "I didn't feel very brave while I was running back to my room. More like petrified. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad I managed to do it, even for that short while. But it might take me a bit before I'm ready to try something like that again. I don't know, maybe it was just all the overwhelming emotions I was feeling today, but I want to be sure that I'm not going to let my control slip like that before I make another attempt. I hope that's alright."

"Of course it is, dear. Whatever you need to feel comfortable."

Elsa looked at the gifts her mother still carried. "May I?" she asked.

"Oh, certainly." Ellinor carefully deposited the two items onto her daughter's bed. Elsa walked over and picked up the music box. After giving the key a few turns, she set it back down atop Anna's present and lifted the lid. As the melody unwound, she closed her eyes once again and let the notes wash over her. Finally, she felt her heartbeat starting to return to normal. Normal was good.

The queen watched as a peaceful smile returned to her daughter's face. Under these extraordinary circumstances, there was no way to judge whether or not their offering was actually having its desired effect. This was a near textbook example of mixed messages in action. Apparently, they could only continue to wait, as they had been doing all this time. Wait and hope.

No, she corrected herself. There was one other thing they could do. Keeping her already soft voice low, so as not to disrupt the music any more than necessary, she again spoke her daughter's name. Elsa's eyes opened and she looked at her mother questioningly.

"I have one other present I'd like to give you, if you wouldn't mind."

"What is it, Mother?"

Ellinor lowered herself to her knees and spread her arms apart, inviting her little girl inside. Elsa's face positively glowed as she ran forward and threw her own arms around her mother's neck. The two held each other close as the music wove around them and between them and through them, embracing them both in its own way.

It was impossible to say which was giver and which receiver of that most heartfelt of gifts.


	43. The Music of Familiar Voices

"Princess Anna, are you alright?"

The youngest member of the Arendelle Royal Family looked up from the floor, upon which she had just landed rather heavily. "I think so," she said. Then she shifted her weight to begin getting to her feet and winced. "Well, mostly."

"Please, let me help you up." Anna accepted the proffered hand without argument and soon was fully upright once again.

"Are you certain you're uninjured, Your Highness?"

"Maybe just a little sore," she admitted, squinting one eye shut as she surreptitiously massaged the offended muscles. "Of course, I've had much worse falling out of the trees in the garden. This is nothing. Besides, it was my own fault for not watching where I was going. Sorry to run into you like that, Kai."

"Barely even felt it," he chuckled, patting his ample girth. "But where were you going in such a hurry?"

"Well," Anna admitted reluctantly, "it was less about where I was going than where I was coming from."

At that moment, Anna's tutor emerged from the door that had so recently disgorged his young pupil. He was still peering into his valise and attempting to organize its contents when he registered the presence of the two figures outside his classroom. Coming to a halt, he looked up and adjusted his glasses. "Oh, good morning, Kai. Or is it afternoon already?" He started to fumble for his pocket watch, then seemed to think better of it. "Well, I suppose it doesn't much matter, does it? Is there something I can do for you?"

The steward cast a wry look at the small girl, who returned it with her own smile full of poorly feigned innocence. Resisting the urge to shake his head at her unrepentant impishness, he instead answered the question that had been put to him.

"Not today, Yori," he said casually. "I actually came here hoping to run into Princess Anna." He allowed himself another quick sideways glance, just in time to catch the princess rolling her eyes at his pointed choice of words.

"Ah, well then, she's all yours. We've finished our lessons for today." Looking back down at his bag, he finally managed to get a stack of uncooperative papers to fall into place. "Though that reminds me," he said thoughtfully as he looked up again and fixed his eyes on his young student. "Someone still owes me a paper on those folk tales she was assigned to read a week ago."

Anna's features at last conspired to betray her guilt. "I'm almost finished," she insisted. "I only have a little more left to do. I'll turn it in soon, I promise."

"I'll expect to see it when we have our next session on Monday," he admonished her. "My good friend from university, Peter Asbjørnsen, was kind enough to send me those copies of some of the stories he's been collecting. I personally found them to be a quite fascinating look into the rich cultural heritage of this region, so much so that I've been encouraging him to compile them all into a book. I assured him that such a work would be quite popular, particularly among children. I would hate to think I had misled him."

"Yes. sir. I mean no. sir. That is... I'll get it done, I promise."

Her tutor nodded once. "Very well. Until Monday then." He nodded at Kai as well, then stepped past them both and head off up the passage.

Kai looked down at Anna with a knowing half-smirk. "Almost finished?" he queried. "Exactly how much have you completed, if I might ask?"

Anna looked thoroughly vexed. "Don't you start too, Kai. I did read them, honest. I actually enjoyed them too. But just because a story is fun to read doesn't make it fun to write about. I never know what to say.

"I remember when we were younger and Mother would read us stories. After she'd finish one, she and Elsa would often talk about how beautiful the language was, and how this particular passage reminded them of another story they'd once read, or what they thought the author meant when he'd said this certain thing.

"Then Mama would turn to me and ask me what I thought. And I'd almost always say something like, 'I liked it when the prince killed the dragon!' Then she'd smile and ruffle my hair, and I'd smile back, and we'd go on to the next story."

Anna frowned. "The problem is that I still seem to be kind of stuck at that phase. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure Prof. Engelstad wants a little more than that. I just don't know how to give it to him. Do you think maybe you could...?"

But Kai was already shaking his head. "I'm sorry. I'd like to help you, Your Highness, but I'm afraid you're asking the wrong person. I was never much good at that sort of thing myself when I was a lad. It isn't like I have much time to read anything just for fun these days, either. It's all I can do to keep up with the constant stream of reports and correspondence that flows through this place, Ah, but that reminds me why I came looking for you!"

The palace steward reached inside his jacket and withdrew a folded piece of paper, which he offered to Anna. "This just arrived for you, Princess."

"For me?" It took but a moment for her to realize that there was only one person who might be writing her. "Marie!" Grabbing the letter from his hand, she began awkwardly working to undo the seal. Her eagerness to read the latest news from her friend was only tempered by her desire to keep this memento as pristine as possible.

Finally, it popped open. Her eyes began darting back and forth as she quickly scanned the familiar handwriting.

"Good news, I hope?" Kai finally inquired.

Anna jumped a little, having almost forgotten that she wasn't alone in the hallway. "It seems to be," she answered. Then, remembering her manners, she smiled. "Thank you for bringing this to me, Kai. You really didn't have to. I know you're busy and everything." She stretched up on her tiptoes until he bent low enough for her to plant a grateful kiss on his cheek.

"All part of the job," he replied with a smile of his own. "Though actually, I consider it to be one of the perks." He winked at her, and Anna giggled. "Unfortunately, I'm afraid that I now really do have to return to some of the less enjoyable parts of my day. Unless you need anything else from me before I go?"

"No. Thank you again, Kai."

The steward bowed, then turned and walked back up the hallway, leaving Anna alone with her friend's words. She glanced at the letter again, her eyes lingering on the signature near the end. Then she bent down to collect the books and things that had fallen to the floor at the same time she had. Tucking them under one elbow, she started walking down the passage, her eyes once more lowered to the note in her free hand.

Because of this distraction, it took her longer than usual to navigate the palace corridors. It also had a part to play in the banging of her shin quite sharply against an inconsiderately placed ottoman. The subsequent hopping up and down, plus a second dropping and recollecting of her school supplies, only added to the delay. Nevertheless, she eventually found herself exactly where she wanted to be.

She was just about to knock when she suddenly stopped, her knuckles hovering in front of the door. A noise from inside the room had drawn her up short. Now she stood silently, captivated once again by the familiar sound. Her hand fell to her side and she turned, leaned her back against the door, and slid quietly down to the floor. Once there, she just closed her eyes and listened. It was faint, almost on the edge of hearing, but she could still make out the tiny notes coming from the music box.

In her mind's eye, she pictured Marie standing just a few steps away from this very spot, violin tucked under her chin, drawing her bow back and forth across the strings. Anna was almost startled by how vividly her friend's face appeared to her. As she recalled every curve and tiny movement, she realized that Marie had almost looked like she had become detached from herself. There wasn't the show of intense concentration that Anna would have expected. Her friend's brow had been unfurrowed and her lips had turned up in the smallest of smiles. It was as if the music had taken over her body and she had merely come along to enjoy the performance herself. It made the princess wish that she too could go to that magical place.

Suddenly, a new sound pulled Anna out of her reverie and back to the present. Her eyes opened in surprise. She tried not to breathe. She had never heard this sound before, yet it was almost painfully beautiful. In it, she could hear hope and joy, but also hints of sadness and longing and so much more that she couldn't even begin to name. Despite being completely new, she still felt like she had somehow known it all her life.

Elsa was singing...

There were no words to her song, although it rose and fell to the same unmistakable melody. Except that, now and again, her sister's voice would unexpectedly change direction, harmonizing instead of simply imitating. The longer she sang, the bolder her improvisations became, and yet it never stopped feeling like the same piece they'd both first heard together months ago.

Anna was no longer able to make out the distant notes from the music box beneath Elsa's continuing counterpoint. It might have even wound down by now, but it hardly mattered. She closed her eyes again and her memory supplied the sound of Marie's violin in its place. The melodies interwove with each other, dancing through her mind like the sprightly birds the original piece had evoked. It was almost as if her two closest friends, though a thousand miles apart, were somehow performing a duet together. The thought made Anna's heart ache with a bittersweet joy. Elsa and Marie had never gotten the chance to meet face to face. Yet through the magic of this one radiant song, they would now be forever bound together within Anna's soul in a far deeper and more profound way than they had ever been before.

She did not know how long the singing lasted. All she knew was that it ended too soon. Elsa's voice lingered on one long, final note before it quietly faded away, much like Marie's original performance had ended. The poignant similarity sent a shiver down Anna's spine. She tried to savor that last moment, wanting to hold it in her ears the same way she might let the final bite of one of Gerda's magnificent cakes melt on her tongue. Somehow, it wasn't the same, though. The silence that now followed just felt hollow and empty.

"Elsa?" The word came out harsh and raspy in her ears compared to what she had just heard. Clearing her throat, she tried again. "Elsa, that was amazing!"

There was a clatter from within the room. Apparently, she'd inadvertently startled her sister. She heard the sound of a chair being pushed back. A second or two later, Elsa's voice came to her from just the other side of the door. "Anna? Shouldn't you be at lunch? You don't often visit at this time of day."

"No, but I'm glad that I did. Elsa, you have such a beautiful singing voice! I never knew. I wish I could sing like that."

"Well, have you ever tried?"

"Me? Oh, no."

"Then how do you know you can't?"

"With my squeaky little voice? I could never sound as good as you. I'd probably just embarrass myself."

"Anna," Elsa replied, sounding a little exasperated, "do you have any idea how many people have heard me sing? Counting you... exactly one. I wasn't doing it because I was trying to impress anybody. I only sang because I felt like singing. That's it. And honestly, I couldn't have told you if I was any good at it or not. That wasn't the point."

"But you _are _good at it! Just like you're good at your lessons and your drawings and... well, everything! Lucky for Arendelle that you'll be the one to be queen someday."

"Anna..."

"But that's not why I came here," she interrupted. "I got a letter."

Her sister put the pieces together even more quickly than she herself had. "Marie? Oh Anna, that's wonderful! What does she say?"

The younger princess smoothed out the pages atop the books in her lap and began to read.

• • •

_Dear Anna,_

_I do hope this letter finds you well. I've been thinking about you quite a lot lately. It's hard to believe that it's been nearly two years since we first met in your parlor. Who would ever have guessed how much things would have changed since then?_

_It finally feels like we have settled into the usual routines of life here in our little two-bedroom apartment. As I've mentioned before, it's not a big place, but it's bright and airy. Besides, Mother has a gift for making any place feel like home. We've all had plenty of experience fitting ourselves into new surroundings, after all. Still, sometimes it's easier than others. It was just a blessing that we were able to find these rooms on the ground floor. That's made it much easier for me._

_Father is getting used to his new job too. It isn't quite as exciting as supervising things at a seaport, of course. The pace is usually slower, and you tend to see more of the same familiar faces working river routes. He doesn't get to meet people from all around the world like he did working at the coastal harbors. I think he misses that, but this job has its own advantages too. He's quickly become very good friends with some of the regulars who pilot their boats up and down the Seine. The waterways are still one of the fastest routes for tales to travel, so he's often among the first people to hear about goings on outside of the city._

_Meanwhile, you'll be happy to know that cousin Odette finally helped us find a lovely woman who has agreed to come to our place once a week to continue my violin lessons. She actually played for a while with the orchestra that's attached to the Conservatoire de Paris. I dearly hope to get admitted to a music conservatory myself someday, but I can only dream that I might become good enough to be accepted to one of such excellent reputation._

_By the way, thank you for your letter last month. I love hearing more about your riding lessons, even if it makes me a little sad that I never got to meet Adelen. From your descriptions, he sounds simply beautiful. More importantly, though, I'm so glad to hear that you and Elsa are continuing to grow closer again. If there's one thing I've learned these last few months, it's just how essential family can be. That's true of friends too, and the way you talk about your sister, it sounds like she's something of both to you. I can only imagine what it must be like to feel that bond rekindling again._

_Please give my love to all of your family. They've done so much for us, in ways both big and small. Also, write back soon. Despite how long we've been here now, I still haven't had much chance to make new friends with others my own age yet. I hope to soon, but until then, I miss you all the more. I'll be eagerly awaiting your next letter!_

_Take care, Anna. Know that our paths will cross again some day, at least if I have any say about it. Until then, love always._

_Your friend,_

_Marie_

• • •

Having finished, Anna sat quietly, regarding the letter. She couldn't be sure. Perhaps it just was because she'd spent so much time lately trying to pick up on any tiny little hints that her parents might let slip. Still, something about Marie's note had been bothering her since she'd first glanced over it outside her classroom, and it continued to gnaw at her now.

"Well, it sounds like everything is going well for her, doesn't it?" Elsa asked brightly. "It all seems to be good news."

"Yes, but..." Anna struggled to find the right words to express her concern without simply sounding paranoid. "Well, I was hoping she'd say something about how her recovery was going. I mean, in her last few letters, she at least mentioned trips to see Dr. Velpeau. This time, though, she didn't talk about it at all. I keep waiting to hear good news about that. I guess I'm just a little disappointed that I didn't."

Elsa seemed to consider her sister's concerns before replying. "I know how hard it must be for you, Anna. Unfortunately, I'm sure it will take quite a long time for Marie to recover from injuries that severe. Perhaps she didn't say anything because there just isn't anything new to say. Or maybe she just wanted to be able to ignore it for awhile. I'm sure she gets tired of having to deal with it all the time. Writing to you probably reminds her of the way things used to be, and you're probably the one person who most strongly remembers her that way too.

"In a way, I wouldn't be surprised if these letters might be to her what my little birthday party was to me. It's a chance to pretend that things haven't become so... so different. For a time, you can almost let yourself believe that nothing ever changed." Elsa paused, then sighed. "No matter how short a time that might be."

The hint of melancholy in that last sentence was enough to draw Anna out of her own worries. "I hope you aren't about to start apologizing again, Elsa. It wasn't your fault. I've already told you, I wouldn't trade that time we did spent together for anything. It was wonderful. You were wonderful. And you know that whenever you're ready to try again, I'll still be waiting here for you. You're worth the wait."

"Thank you," her sister said, sounding surprised and just a little overwhelmed by the compliment. "So are you, Anna. And even though you tried to change the subject, I haven't forgotten. I don't care what you say, I think you have a lovely voice. You don't give yourself enough credit. I always look forward to listening to you read Marie's letters. It's a shame they don't come more often."

Anna looked down at her friend's graceful handwriting, and suddenly found that she had an entirely new reason for wishing there had been more to the short note.

As her gaze roved across the simple stationary, her eye was suddenly drawn to the corner of a piece of paper that was sticking out of her textbook, upon which she had rested Marie's letter. For a moment, she couldn't remember what she might have tucked away in there, but some part of her brain drew her attention inexorably toward it. When she tugged it out and unfolded it, she discovered that there were actually several sheets all together. As she glanced over the first page, she slowly began to realize what it was and why it had sparked her curiosity.

"Elsa," she said, "I don't have another letter, but I do have an idea. Would you like me to read you a story?"

"A story?" her sister asked. "What kind of story?"

"It's called, 'The Three Princesses of Whiteland,'" Anna explained. "Prof. Engelstad gave it to me. I think you might like it. It isn't all that long, but..."

"Please," Elsa said, and there was real excitement in her voice now. "I'd love to hear it."

Anna set her books and Marie's letter carefully aside, shifted into a slightly more comfortable position, and then began reading once again.

"There was once upon a time a fisherman, who lived hard by a palace and fished for the King's table. One day he was out fishing, but caught nothing at all. Let him do what he might with rod and line, there was never even so much as a sprat on his hook; but when the day was well nigh over, a head rose up out of the water, and said..."

Anna completely missed lunch that day. Not that she noticed. She finished reading that first tale, then another and another. Elsa adored each and every one. They sat on opposite sides of the door, talking about the characters and the creatures and the layers of meaning that Anna had completely missed when she had read them herself. Except that as they went on, she began to see them even before Elsa pointed them out. There was something about sharing a story, about reading it aloud, that made it come alive for her in a way that the words on the page had not done before.

Her tutor would be quite happy with the paper she would have for him at their next session – but nowhere near as happy as the two princesses were on that otherwise quiet afternoon.


	44. Shadows in the Night

Elsa sat just within the pool of light cast by the candle that flickered on her desk. Beyond that circle of illumination, her room was quite dark. These evening practices remained terribly inconvenient, but all the short nights would be worth it if they finally led her to the mastery of her powers. After all, there was no denying that she was making progress... even if the scowl on her face suggested otherwise.

To be fair, she was extremely pleased with the results she was now able to produce with ice. She never would have expected it, but just trying to mimic her little doll had taught her so much. On the day that she'd finally mastered the proper technique to reliably recreate it, she'd felt actual pride in her magic for the first time she could ever remember. Since then, she'd learned how to incorporate finer detail into her sculptures. Now she was usually able to include most if not all of those details as part of the initial shaping. And she'd experimented with a wide variety of shapes and sizes, from tiny, fragile little trinkets to large and solid structures. Well, as large as could fit within the circumference of her basin, at any rate.

In fact, she had begun to feel that she'd taken things as far as she could in that direction, at least within the limited confines she'd allowed herself. Nevertheless, she did not feel like she could rightfully claim that she had full control of her abilities. There still remained one thing that she had been avoiding for far too long. That was why, for the last several weeks, she had turned her attention once again to what she was rapidly coming to view as her personal nemesis.

Snow.

She had been pleased to find that she hadn't forgotten how to create and control simple snowballs. It had been so long since she'd last practiced the skill that she hadn't necessarily considered it a foregone conclusion. Once she'd satisfied herself of that, however, she'd again attempted to create more complicated shapes. Unfortunately, the results had proved to be every bit as disappointing as they had months earlier.

It was inordinately frustrating. She could see the shape she wanted in her head, as clearly as she ever could when she was working with ice. She could even get the snow to take that shape, albeit a simpler and smoother approximation. The trick was convincing the snow to hold that shape. It was a trick that still eluded her.

As long as she kept even a tiny thread of magic flowing, everything was fine. But the instant that thread was cut, the snow would begin to fall apart. Sometimes it seemed to tease her, holding together for a few seconds before chunks began to slough off into the bottom of the basin. Other times, the entire thing would immediately collapse into a shapeless pile. Either way, the end result was always the same.

Elsa didn't know what she was missing, and she was running out of clever ideas for new approaches. She had tried varying the composition of the snow, which did manage to produce different results that ranged anywhere from dismal to merely disappointing. She had attempted a variety of shapes, from assorted geometric constructs to more recognizable real world objects.

She'd had high hopes when she first tried to make a simplified version of her little Anna doll, since it was an object she knew so very well by now. Unfortunately, gravity was even less friendly to snow than it was to ice; that oversized head proved completely unworkable. Other more modest forms had only varied in how quickly the inevitable collapse took place.

As such, she had picked tonight's subject matter on a whim as much as anything else. For a little variety and for lack of any better ideas, she had decided to attempt to create a snow squirrel. Well, why not? She'd seen one outside her window that afternoon, scurrying around in an apparent attempt to find the last of the autumn nuts before the looming onset of winter. Apparently, the image had stuck in her head. Besides, it provided a fairly compact shape. As long as she didn't attempt to pose the bushy tail sticking straight up in the air, there weren't really any overbalanced parts to create problems.

And since she didn't really expect to have any more success tonight than on any other night so far, at least she could enjoy putting the little animal into some cute poses before she finally withdrew the magic and watched it fall to pieces. Her low expectations were being met quite well, too. Time and again, when she pinched off the thin thread of power, each new attempt crumbled apart before her eyes.

It felt like she had some sort of mental barrier that was preventing her from making progress. Was there a magical equivalent of writer's block? Whatever it was, the constant string of failures was certainly not doing any favors for her mood, either. Her frustration had been building steadily all evening. Given how many hours and days she had now spent on what appeared to be an absolute and total waste of time, her irritation was pretty much reaching the breaking point. It was late, the candle was burning low, her eyes were starting to itch from lack of sleep. Most of all, though, she was feeling like a complete fool. She just couldn't decide whether that was due to her lack of success or her stubborn inability to simply accept defeat.

One last try, she told herself. Not that this would be the first "last try" of the night. However, as she covered a wide-mouthed yawn and then rubbed her bleary eyes with the heels of her hands, she realized that she needed to hold herself to it this time. No good could come of pushing herself any further past the point of exhaustion.

She shook her head vigorously, trying to restore focus. Then she once again built up the picture of the squirrel in her mind. She settled on a simple, neutral pose: sitting back upon its hind legs with its head lowered. The result was little more than a small ball of fur, so it seemed the perfect choice for the night's final act of futility. If she couldn't manage a literal furball, then she might as well give up.

Holding the image steady before her mind's eye, she raised her right hand and slowly released her power. The familiar blue sparkles poured from her fingertips and collected in the bottom of the basin. They coalesced first into the round shape of the little rodent's body. Tiny little feet appeared next, albeit extremely simplified without distinct toes. Tiny little forelegs and flat little hands sprouted from the shoulders, held close against the snowy chest. A round little head popped up next, topped by two miniscule little balls for ears. Finally, in a shower of topaz sparks, the tail rolled up along the back.

Like most of her efforts with snow, it was approximate at best. It was about as close a match to a real squirrel as a snowman was to a man. Really, she thought, it looked like what might have come out if she'd tried to draw a squirrel with her crayons back when she was five years old. Still, that aspect of things didn't really bother her too much. This next moment was what she dreaded. With a weary sigh, she closed off the magic.

That is, she tried to. The magic, however, continued to flow.

Hmm, perhaps she was even more tired than she had realized. She squeezed even harder. Still, the connection refused to break. The thread was incredibly fine, but it was definitely still there. No matter how hard she tried to clamp down on it, it remained stubbornly intact.

Now, she really began to worry.

Her eyes darted to the side, to where her gloves lay at the edge of the desk. Of course, they were on her right side, and just far enough away that she couldn't easily stretch her left hand across to reach them. Did she dare try to grab for them with her right hand while her power was still active? Or would that only result in her flinging a fan of snow all the way across the room? Nothing like this had ever happened to her before, so she had no way of knowing.

Struggling just a little to keep her breathing calm and steady, she glanced back at the little caricature of a squirrel that still sat in the middle of her basin. She tried to think through the problem sensibly, despite the early stirrings of panic she could feel bubbling up inside her. The good news was that the magic didn't seem to be adding new snow, so that was something at least. It meant she had some time to consider her options.

She couldn't very well sit here like this all night, obviously. At the same time, who knew what would happen if she tried to put on the gloves while her power remained active. There was no telling whether or not the magic would continue to flow. If it did, it might shoot off in any direction, and there was no guarantee that it would be content to maintain its current slow trickle. No, for the moment, the best idea would seem to be to carry on with her attempts to overcome this strange new obstacle. The gloves would still be there as a last resort. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

Knowing that certain hand gestures could help guide her magic, she tried to think of any that might cut it off. She clenched her fist, shook it, then slowly drew it close to her chest in hopes that the delicate strand might break. There was no change. She even tried wringing her hands together, using much the same movements she might have used to free them of clinging cobwebs. That approach was quickly abandoned, however, when a fine spray of white powder fell in a dusting across her lap.

Gritting her teeth, her brows knitting tightly together, she once again struggled to strangle the mysteriously persistent stream. This proved all the harder because, until now, she'd never needed to think about exactly what she did to shut off her abilities. It wasn't like just clenching her hand more tightly. Instead, it was more like trying to figure out how to make her heart contract harder. No matter how much effort she exhausted in the attempt, there was no way of knowing if she was even anywhere close to doing the right thing. It was maddening. If she thought she'd been frustrated before, she'd had no idea what that word really meant.

That was when she felt it. It appeared suddenly, deep within her, exploding into existence in the space between one instant and the next.

Her heart nearly stopped.

An instant later, it was already rising rapidly. She felt its unstoppable, inexorable determination.

Her breath caught in her chest.

She felt it like one feels the looming weight of the tidal wave that will crash down upon you in seconds, or the rumble of the avalanche that will bury you alive.

A surge of magical energy was building, growing, churning inside her. It wanted out, and it seemed to sense that an avenue of escape was ready and waiting for it. Or perhaps one was somehow responsible for creating the other. Either way, it was coming and coming quickly. Elsa knew she had only a moment, two at the most, before it hit. She also knew that she was not ready.

"No!" Inside her head, it was a scream. To the world at large, it was a groan of desperation squeezed out through a jaw still clamped tightly shut. The panic she'd so far been keeping at bay now roared through her, seeming to ride the crest of the magical torrent. Her heart should have been racing, but there wasn't enough time for it to respond. There wasn't enough time for her to draw another breath. There wasn't enough time to shed even one of the tears that were collecting beneath her eyelids.

There wasn't enough time.

Yet perversely, everything seemed to slow down, as if to better let her experience every single nuance of the impending disaster. She felt the surge rise through her chest. Felt it as it reached her shoulder and languidly changed direction. Felt it as it roiled down her arm, filling it with power. Felt the tingling spreading through her fingertips. Felt...

_NO!_ There was no time to give voice to her defiance, but it swept the panic away like a hurricane. She crushed her fingers into the tightest fist she had ever made. Her fingernails bit into the flesh of her palm. With every ounce of willpower she possessed, and some she felt certain she must have borrowed against her future lifetime allotment, she resisted. She held the portal closed, even as the magic slammed into it with the force of a battering ram.

She cried out at the impact, and her entire arm seemed to shudder. It felt like her hand might be torn off at the wrist, the blow was so strong. The collision itself was not the end, either. The pressure kept driving, pushing, surging, seeking the most insignificant gap that it could break through. The sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced. She didn't even know what to call it. It wasn't pain, but it certainly wasn't pleasure. She shouldn't even call it pressure really, but her mind could find no better terms to express the feeling. All she knew was that every other nerve seemed to have shut down. The violence in that one arm was so overwhelming, she had no attention left to give to any reports coming in from the rest of her body.

It was impossible to say how long the barrage lasted. But when it finally withdrew, it left her entire arm shaking. Every muscle felt tired and sore after clenching so tightly for what seemed like hours. All she wanted to do was relax, but she did not dare.

The magic's withdrawal was not a retreat. She knew this. It was pulling back only for a moment, like the sea draws back before sending forth the next wave. She felt it rolling up her arm, gathering just above her shoulder. It had lost much of its strength during that first assault. But then, so had she. How much had they each managed to hold back? There was no way to be certain, but she was about to find out.

An instant later, it smashed again into her hastily erected defenses. Even though this second blow was weaker than before, it still tore a gasp from her lungs. She reached over with her left hand and grasped her other wrist, trying to steady it even though she didn't know if that physical support would have any impact on the mysterious battle going on inside her quivering arm.

The strain and exertion of her already overtaxed mind and body threatened to reduce her to sobs. She could not yield to that temptation, however. She had to maintain her focus, had to keep her power from finding its way onto that slender thread that still connected her hand to the basin. She didn't know what would happen if it reached that nearly invisible filament. She didn't want to know. She only knew that, if the magic did somehow make it that far, there would then be nothing she could do to stop it.

At last, the crushing strain began to ebb. Still she retained her grip, as pathetic as it now was, until she felt the last of the weight fade away... and then a few seconds more. Even then, when she told her fingers to relax, they barely moved. She had to pry them open with her left hand, they had become so stiff and cramped. She could see little crescent marks embedded in her palms where her nails had dug in.

Elsa realized that her face was wet. Beads of sweat rolled down her forehead and along both sides of her nose. She tasted the salt as it gathered on her lips. More drops slid down her cheeks, though she honestly couldn't be sure from which of two likely sources that moisture came. Additional perspiration was causing her nightdress to cling uncomfortably to her back.

Still shaking, she started to raise her hands to brush away the water, which was threatening to drip both into and out of her eyes. As she did so, however, she felt an odd little tug on her right hand. She looked down at it, momentarily perplexed. Only then did she notice that the stubborn filament of magic still stretched between her finger and the silly little squirrel.

There was not enough warning this time. Even if there had been, she doubted that she could have offered any meaningful resistance anyway.

It was only the tiniest remnant of the massive outflow that she had worked so hard to stem, but that just seemed to lend it greater speed. It shot down her arm like a lightning bolt, squeezed itself through her index finger, and then popped out of the tip like a bubble. Racing down the thread, it headed straight for the snow sculpture. As it made contact and burrowed inside, Elsa at last felt the connection snap, unraveling now that its purpose had apparently been served.

Abruptly, she was on her feet, nearly toppling the chair over behind her. For the second time that night, her heart and lungs momentarily forgot how to function. She stood there wide-eyed, unable to do anything but brace herself for the oncoming catastrophe. Images flashed into her mind of the ballroom, walls and floor coated with thick, crackling sheets of hoarfrost. Of sharp crystalline shards covering her windowsill, burying her washbasin.

Of Anna, lying limply in her arms, cold as ice.

She felt that same sense of powerlessness dragging her down again. She had thought that she might have finally left it behind, but it had only been lying dormant, waiting. And when it returned, it brought with it the equally familiar confusion and despair and fear and...

...and nothing happened. Elsa continued to stare at her childish creation, but nothing changed. Nothing.

The snow didn't collapse. The tail didn't disintegrate. The little arms didn't drop off. The squirrel remained perfectly still, perfectly intact, even though her connection to it had been severed.

She inched closer to her desk, as if afraid that something was lying in wait, ready to leap out and attack her as soon as she got too close. When nothing did, however, she bent over and examined the snow more closely. In the flickering candlelight, she could see nothing unusual about it. It looked exactly the same as every other failed experiment she had ever attempted. She didn't understand. What had just happened? Where had that bubble of magic gone? Had it simply dissipated, or was it now within the snow itself? Is that why the snow was holding together? Could that be the missing secret – somehow leaving a tiny bit of magic inside her frosty creations?

As Elsa marveled at this unexpected discovery, the tiny circle of light that lit up the table sputtered once, twice, and then died completely. She straightened, startled, and looked around. The darkness into which the room had suddenly been plunged was too deep, however, for her to see much of anything. Not that it mattered. It was obvious enough that the already shortened candle must have finally burned so low that the flame had finally drowned itself in the pool of melted wax.

Well, it didn't look like she would be solving any of these mysteries tonight. She had been foolish to push herself this far as it was. Maybe tomorrow.

Then again, maybe not. Considering this evening's disconcerting incident, perhaps it was time to step back and reconsider her approach to seeking mastery over her power. This wasn't exactly the first time something inexplicable had gone wrong with her magic in the last few months. Maybe she'd been pushing herself too hard for too long. All of these late nights might slowly be catching up with her. Possibly the time had come to take a short break, to let herself rest and recover. Better to play it safe than to risk another horrific accident.

Groping along the edge of the desk, she found her gloves. With a little difficulty, she managed to pull them back on in the dark. Then she turned. Stooping over slightly and stretching her arms out in front of her, she shuffled across the room blindly until she at last bumped into the side of her bed. Momentarily fumbling with the blankets, she finally managed to slip beneath them.

As her head found the pillow, another mighty yawn gripped her once again, sending a tremor down her neck and across her shoulders. No, this lack of sleep definitely couldn't be good for her or her control. Besides, she'd been working hard for the better part of a year now. Everyone deserved a little vacation from time to time. She wasn't giving up, of course. No, far from it. She was just being sensible, like the future ruler of Arendelle ought to be. Once she was feeling more like herself again, then she could then try to repeat this new little trick, to see if she could now keep her snow sculptures intact. Though hopefully next time, she'd be able to do it with a little more control.

Feeling satisfied with this decision, Elsa rolled over, turning her back on her desk and (at least for the moment) on the many unanswered riddles that still surrounded her abilities. There would be time enough for that later. Right now, what she really needed most was...

Sleep overtook her before she even finished the thought. She was so exhausted from the internal war she had just fought that she quickly fell into one of the deepest slumbers she had ever known. It would have taken something on the order of a seismic event to rouse her at that moment.

Which is why the quiet sound of something lightly tapping against ceramic did not impinge upon her awareness in the slightest. Even if it had, she would have been hard pressed to see anything in the pitch black – except perhaps, at certain moments, two faint glimmers atop the darkness that was her desk.

The squirrel had been slow to awaken. This was, when you got right down to it, not all that surprising. It wasn't like it had much practice at such things. After all, it had never woken up before.

It looked around, or at least tried too. Its night vision was no better than its creator's, however. So instead, it began to explore its surroundings via touch, feeling along the smooth concave surface of the bowl with its little paws.

Soon, it managed to find the rim, then began tracing around the circumference in an awkward little shuffle. Its little mind did not know exactly where it was or how it had gotten here, but it quickly realized that wherever here was, it was far too exposed. This wasn't a comfortable hollow under a tree, or even a little nook carved into a hillside. There was no shelter here, no cover, and it instinctively knew that this was bad.

Squirrels know fear.

Evil things lurked in the dark. Things that dropped out of the air or darted out of the inky shadows. Such terrifying creatures would like nothing better than to make a meal out of a helpless little rodent caught out in the open at night. It needed to find someplace safe, some place where it could hide until morning. When the new sun rose, then it would be better able to explore its surroundings.

Carefully, it lifted itself over the edge of the basin. Stretching one paw down over the rim, it groped to find solid ground. Finally, the tips of its toes brushed the hard surface. It wouldn't have far to go. With a bit of scrambling, it managed to hoist itself out of the bowl and dropped silently to the surface of the desk.

Only now, of course, it still had no way of knowing in which direction it might find refuge. It sat still for a moment, curling again into a tiny ball, trying to make itself as inconspicuous as possible while it tried to figure out what to do next.

Fortune took pity upon it at that moment, however. Outside the window, the clouds parted just enough to allow the crescent moon to shine a little wan light into the room. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Quickly surveying its surroundings, the squirrel realized its situation was even more precarious that it had first feared. It was perched high on a barren plateau, with no appreciable cover to be found nearby. Nor could it see any trees that it might climb up into to hide among the leaves or in some cozy space hollowed out of the trunk.

Its fear began to take on shades of terror at its predicament. There had to be someplace it could hide, if not up high, then perhaps down low. It scurried back and forth across the oddly smooth surface, furiously searching for a promising place to wait out the hours until dawn. At last, it made up its mind.

Scampering back the way it had come, it launched itself in a leap that carried it right onto the flat surface of what it could only assume was a cleanly broken stump (but was, in point of fact, Elsa's chair). From there, it dropped to the floor. Part of it wanted to dart back between the trunks of the four spindly saplings that stood behind it, but it knew that they would not provide enough protection.

Its feet found easier purchase on the strange purple moss that covered the ground here. It took off like a shot, jinking back and forth as it ran, trying to make itself as difficult a target as possible for any demon of the night that might suddenly appear out of nowhere. Safety was drawing nearer. It was almost there. Just a little further.

The light disappeared as the squirrel slipped beneath Elsa's bed. This was a more comforting darkness, though. It was the kind of black that says there are walls around you and a roof overhead, and anything that might want to eat you will at least have to work a little harder to get to you first.

Retreating all the way to the wall behind the head of the bed, the spooked rodent finally lay down and curled up, wrapping its tail around itself. It still would have preferred a smaller, tighter sanctuary. There remained far too many hungry creatures that would be able to sneak into this dark grotto for a little midnight snack. But at least this was better. There was a decent hope that it might go unnoticed tucked away back here. Now, at least it stood a chance.

Nevertheless, its lingering fear kept it awake for quite a while, peering out from its hiding place, ready to bolt at the slightest sign of movement. Only when a very long time had passed in stillness and silence did it finally let itself relax. Then it tucked its nose behind its tail, closed its eyes, and settled in to await the new day.

• • •

When Elsa finally awoke the next morning, her curiosity drew her back to her desk first thing. She was somewhat disappointed to find the basin empty. Then again, she reminded herself with a sigh, even magical snow was still snow. Left out all night, of course a little ball like that would have melted, even with the cooler temperatures here at the tail end of autumn.

She was a little surprised that there wasn't at least a little water left behind, but it didn't strike her as peculiar enough to think all that much about it. Instead, she carried the washbasin back to its usual stand and poured some water into it from the pitcher that waited there. Then she tugged off her gloves and began to scrub her face and hands and neck. The sweat of her terror had dried on her skin during the night, and now she wanted nothing so much as to be well and thoroughly cleansed of it.

Naturally, she never noticed the tiny little puddle that darkened a small spot on the carpet beneath her bed. Long before the sun set that evening, even that final trace of her timid little creation had disappeared forever.

**A/N: You've probably noticed that I've been struggling to maintain my twice-weekly posting schedule lately. Writing an average of a thousand words every evening was already challenging, and it often left me feeling like I didn't have time left for anything else. Now, with all the additional distractions that summer brings, trying to write to those same deadlines was beginning to turn this story into a stress-inducer instead of a stress-reliever.**

**I had never intended for _Echoes_ to turn into a novel. But since that's what it's slowly becoming, I need to pace myself accordingly. So while I have no plans to abandon my story anytime soon, I do think I need to cut back on the frequency of updates. I'll write when I have the time, and I'll post when the chapters are ready. Hope all my wonderful readers understand!**


	45. The Cycles of History

"The fourth King of Arendelle was Ragnr, who married Ilmr. They had two sons, Fasti and Dvalarr. Fasti, the elder, was to succeed his father on the throne, but he was killed in battle. Since Fasti died young with no heirs of his own, the crown fell to Dvalarr, who became the fifth King when Ragnr died of old age. Dvalarr wed Katla, who gave him two daughters, Astrid and Ótama, before they finally had a son, Sefi..."

Elsa heard her own voice as if from a distance, as it droned on and on through the litany of past rulers and their heirs. She'd been required to recite the list so many times during her many lessons that she could almost rattle it off without even thinking about it. In fact, if she ever did find herself paying too much attention to the words, the almost inevitable result would be that she'd confuse Ragnr for Randr, or some other such mistake. Then she'd have to start from the beginning again – partly to satisfy her mother, but mostly because she couldn't recapture the rhythm if she tried to start somewhere in the middle, and she would only end up compounding her initial mistake.

It was, in her mind, a ridiculous waste of time, and easily her least favorite subject.

Not that she minded history in general. Her mother was actually an excellent teacher, as far as Elsa was concerned. From Anna's talk of history lessons under Prof. Engelstad, and what she remembered of her own lessons from him when she was younger, he mostly focused on names and dates and rote memorization of other such trivial details. Mother actually took a far more interesting and pragmatic approach to the subject.

She preferred to view history as a long and complicated story, where the names of the characters, while interesting, were less important than their motivations. Appreciating history, in her mind, was less about remembering the Who and When than the Why. Players came and went in the tale of time, but their actions would affect and motivate those who came after them, sometimes for generations. Only by understanding the reasons people and nations did what they did could you begin to grasp the ebb and flow of conflicts and alliances. As the future ruler of Arendelle, it would be important for Elsa to recognize those same patterns in the present day, and not to make the same mistakes as those who had faced them before. To the princess, all of this made perfect sense.

Unfortunately, the lineage of the Royal House of Arendelle appeared to be the one exception to this otherwise excellent philosophy. For reasons she simply could not grasp, she was expected to commit to memory the descent of the entire monarchy, from the very first king, Olaifr, down through the generations all the way to her father, King Agdar. Why she needed to keep all of this in her head, when it was all so well and clearly traced out in her books, remained a mystery to her. It seemed all the more foolish when she considered that the only way she could usually remember the eleventh king was to begin all the way back at the first. Even then, she was just as likely to continue right on past her target without even noticing.

It was so completely pointless. Even on the best of days, she found it frustrating. Then there were those other days when...

"Elsa?" She started as the queen's voice interrupted her brooding thoughts.

The princess looked at her mother, still sufficiently distracted that she had no reply ready to give. To be perfectly honest, she really had no idea what had prompted the interjection in the first place.

"And the eleventh king was...?" Ellinor prompted gently.

"What?" Elsa was finding it difficult to make sense of the conversation. It didn't help that her head was beginning to throb, either. But hadn't she just been in the middle of recounting the entire family tree? If her mother wanted to hear the rest of it, why had she interrupted her in the first place? Or had she made a mistake without noticing it, and now her mother was trying to get her to correct it?

"You got to King Væni, sweetheart, and then you just stopped."

"Did I?" Elsa's brow furrowed as she tried to think back. She didn't remember stopping. Then again, she'd pretty much been letting her mouth run on automatic without paying a great deal of attention to it. She supposed it could be possible. She groaned, and even though she had intended the noise to just remain inside her own head, she heard it escape into the air as well.

Dropping her head, she covered her face with her hands. Now she'd have to start all over from the beginning again. On top of that, the pain in her head was only growing worse. She cursed Olaifr and all his many descendants, thankful at least that those particular sentiments remained suitably private.

"Elsa, is everything all right?"

She tried to keep it in, tried to remain calm and collected. She tried to retain her composure and hold her tongue. She tried to remember her place, to be the good little girl she was always expected to be.

She failed spectacularly.

"No, everything is not alright!" she shouted as her hands fell away from her face. "This is so stupid. Who cares that the eleventh king was Bolli, or that the first ruling queen was his daughter, Hlífa? And if anybody does care, are they honestly going to come ask me instead of just looking it up in a book somewhere? No, of course not! So why do I have to memorize every single one of these names? How is that information ever going to help me when I'm queen? What, is some evil warlord going to come to the castle gates and declare that he will – I don't know – lay waste to the entire kingdom unless I can name the fourth, seventh, and thirteenth rulers and each of their offspring? It's all such a total and complete waste of..."

Her tirade cut off every bit as abruptly as it had begun. She continued breathing heavily through her nose, her anger and resentment slower to still than her tongue. But she saw the look of wide-eyed shock on her mother's face. Slowly, she felt her own expression moving to mirror it.

What had just happened? That sort of outburst was completely out of character for her, and it must surely have seemed to her mother as if it had come out of nowhere. Except that it hadn't, and the princess knew it.

"Elsa?" Ellinor asked again, but much more tentatively this time. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?" The queen knew her daughter well enough to realize that there had to have been more behind this flare-up than simple frustration over the lesson. Unfortunately, she had no idea what the real cause could possibly be.

Elsa wrapped her arms across her abdomen, gripping opposite elbows and drawing them in tight against herself. Her eyes darted back and forth, looking everywhere but at her mother's face, as she tried to find words to express the feelings that she did not quite understand herself.

"Have you... Have you ever just felt on edge, but you have absolutely no idea why? It's like... you're feeling guilty for something you did, except you can't think of anything that you ought to feel guilty about. So then, because you don't know who you might have offended, in your head it feels like everybody is angry with you, and so you want to apologize to everyone, but you still don't know what for. Then that frustration just starts to make you angry, and now you're afraid that you really will do something worth feeling guilty about, and everything just keeps getting worse and worse and..."

The queen stared at her daughter for a second before she slowly nodded. "I guess I've had days sort of like that, yes. I suppose we probably all do, from time to time."

"Well," Elsa replied hesitantly, "I've been feeling that way for at least a week, maybe two, and I still don't know why. I had hoped that it would eventually go away on its own, so I've been trying to just work my way through it. But it isn't going away. It's just there, all the time – this nagging feeling that something went wrong or is wrong or is about to go wrong – and I just can't shake it. Finally today, I guess it was just a little too much, and I snapped.

"I'm sorry."

Her mother continued to look at her, eyes searching her daughter's face as if she hoped to find the answer to Elsa's problems hidden there somewhere. At last, she asked, "Have you been getting enough sleep? Lack of sleep can cause all sorts of strange..."

But Elsa shook her head. "That's the thing. I've actually been getting more sleep than usual for the last several weeks. Like I said, it doesn't make any sense. I really don't know what to do."

"Then perhaps we should summon the physician and have him examine you. Perhaps you're just a little bit ill and that's the problem."

"I've felt fine, though," Elsa insisted, "at least physically. I'm not tired, I'm not coughing, my nose isn't stuffed or runny. I don't think I have a fever or anything, as far as I can tell."

Her mother leaned forward and pressed her hand against her daughter's forehead. After a moment, she was forced to agree. "No, you aren't warm. If anything, you feel a little cold. Perhaps we ought to build up the fire a little. Winter is still young, but that doesn't mean it can't get quite chilly in some of these rooms. One of the drawbacks to these big, beautiful windows, I suppose."

The princess was shaking her head again. "I don't think it's anything like that. I think it's... it's something that I just need to work out for myself somehow. Unfortunately, since I have no idea what 'it' is, that may take a little longer than I'd like."

"Than we'd both like," her mother amended. It was clear that the queen felt a deep-seated need to find some way that she could help. So far, however, her every attempt at doing so had been thwarted, which only served to increase her discomfiture. "Well," she said resignedly, "we could skip lessons for a few days, if you think that might help."

Elsa was sorely tempted to accept that offer. "No," she replied at last in a tone that was clearly concealing a sigh. "I honestly think it gets worse if I just sit around with nothing to do but think about it. Lessons at least keep me distracted for a while. Just... Could we maybe study something other than Genealogy for a while?"

Ellinor smiled. "I think that could be arranged. Am I correct in guessing that Literature would be an acceptable alternative?"

Now Elsa smiled too. "Yes, please. And thank you."

They quickly settled in to a lively discussion about the newest book to be added to the palace library. It was the latest novel by one of the queen's favorite authors, which is why she'd had it imported from France as soon as it had been released. The characters had been so wonderfully realized that talking about the book now almost felt like gossiping about distant relations.

Elsa found this to be a far more effective diversion than the previous subject ever could have been. It was just enough to allow her to ignore the dull ache at her temples, which (much like her persistent anxiety) still stubbornly refused to go away.

• • •

Anna pushed a small wagon full of straw across the floor of the stables. This was no small feat, considering that it wasn't all that much smaller than she herself was.

She knew she didn't have to do this, of course. Even with the castle staff reduced, they still retained a few stable workers to care for the horses. However, Anna enjoyed tending to Adelen herself whenever she could. With the chill winds of winter now beginning to blow down from the mountains, she wanted to make sure he had plenty of fresh bedding in his stall to help keep him warm during the cold nights. It might not be the most princess-like job, but then she had never been the most princess-like of princesses.

Besides, she had fallen in love with the stables almost as much as she had with her horse. For one thing, so many doors in the palace itself were extraordinarily tall. Apparently, this lent an additional air of majesty to the place, or so she'd been told. Of course, they were always so well maintained that she never had any problem opening them despite their huge size. Nevertheless, she couldn't help the fact that they always made her feel even smaller in comparison.

Here in the stables, however, the doors seemed to be made just to fit her. When she opened up the bottom half of the Dutch doors, she barely needed to duck to slip inside. The warm, natural glow of the wood also appealed to her. Aside from some decorative rosemaling on the doors, there was no paint to be seen. You could easily pick out every little grain and knot in each and every board, and Anna found them all to be beautiful. They were like the ripples of a river, but captured forever in a single moment of time.

Then there was the smell. Granted, it wasn't chocolate, but the odor of the straw and the feed and the horses themselves held its own particular enchantment for her. Of course, there were some smells that were less appealing, but this was just another reason why she liked to make sure Adelen always had a nice deep bed of straw in his stall.

Using an undersized pitchfork, she began to dig into the mounded pile that she'd carried over in the cart. Then she tossed the dried up grain stalks onto the floor and raked them around, paying particular attention to those places that seemed a little thin. While her body worked, however, her mind was free to think of other things. And once again, it turned in a familiar direction.

Anna was beginning to get a little worried about her sister. Well, maybe not worried. Concerned? At any rate, it seemed to her that Elsa had become quieter lately. Of course, Anna usually did most of the talking anyway, so quieter was certainly a relative term in this case. All the same, when Elsa did speak, her responses seemed shorter than normal, a little more terse. It wasn't that she was hesitant or scared, like she'd been a year ago. She just seemed... distracted. Anna was left with the impression that something was weighing heavily on her sister's mind, and that she was only half paying attention to their conversations.

She'd tried asking Elsa about it once or twice, only to be told that it was nothing important. Anna wanted to believe that, so she didn't press the issue, especially since Elsa would always reengage again for a while after she'd given such assurances. Unfortunately, it would never last. By the next day, the preoccupied silences would be back. So Anna just kept talking, trying to fill in the gaps in the conversation herself like she'd done before, and she tried not to let it bother her. Even a little bit of sisterly interaction was more than she'd had for two years. Hopefully, whatever Elsa was struggling with would pass soon and things could return to normal. The new normal, that is.

Anna finished redistributing the straw and straightened up. Wiping her brow with the back of her hand, she examined her work. There were still a few patches that weren't as thickly covered as she would have liked. One more load ought to do it, though. It was a good thing that she wouldn't need much more than that. The pile of straw at the back of the stables was getting rather low. Obviously, her horse's stall wasn't the only one that was being insulated with the onset of winter. They would be needing a new delivery soon, at this rate.

Anna dragged the little wagon back over to the mound of yellowed stalks. Normally, the pile filled the entire end of the stables from wall to wall and floor to ceiling. It was so diminished by this point, however, that a grown man would have been able to see easily over the top of it. Even Anna was almost able to peek around the sides, though it still cast too deep a shadow to make out the wall behind it very clearly.

Taking a firm grip on the pitchfork, she drove it into the straw, then turned and dropped the desiccated stems into the wooden wheelbarrow. Again and again she repeated the pattern, and again her thoughts drifted up to the palace and to her sister's room.

More than anything, she wanted to do something to help Elsa. She just didn't know what that could be, especially since she also didn't really know what was wrong to begin with. It was a smaller version of the same problem she'd been facing for so long now. She would be turning nine soon, and yet in many ways she still felt as helpless as she had on that day three and a half years ago when Elsa had first disappeared behind the door of her new room. But as long as her sister kept talking, Anna told herself, at least she had a chance at figuring something out eventually.

The basket of the little cart was soon filled nearly to the brim. Another forkful or two should be enough to finish off Adelen's stall. The young princess plunged the tines into the stack, then began drawing them back.

A dry rustling sound provided a split second's warning. Scrambling backwards with a squeak, she bumped into the wheelbarrow, overbalanced, and fell into its basket with a crunch. Her legs kicked futilely over the rim of the cart and her face (at least that part of it not obscured by straw) was turned up toward the ceiling. So she heard rather than saw the outcome of her mistake.

Now, coughing and sneezing from all the grit than had gone down her throat and up her nose, she finally managed to lever herself up to a precarious perch on the edge of the handbarrow's basket. Plucking with annoyance at the strands of straw sticking out of her hair, and itching fiercely where some of it had managed to get inside her collar, she surveyed the aftermath.

She'd been so engrossed in her thoughts of her sister, she had failed to pay enough attention to what she'd been doing in the here and now. As a result of her distraction, she had badly undercut the bottom of the straw pile. The collapse that followed had left the stack about half as tall as it had been, but nearly twice as wide around. A heavy haze of dust filled that corner of the stables. Though it was slowly settling back down again, enough still remained in the air to tickle the inside of her nose and trigger another bout of sneezing. Between that and the straw she had fallen into, she was almost thoroughly covered from head to toe.

Waving a hand in front of her face to try to disperse the floating particles, Anna at last slid off the edge of the barrow and dropped to her feet. She stumbled a little, wincing at a few new bruises across the backs of her legs, as she made her way over to the nearest stable door. Undoing the latches, she shoved both top and bottom halves open, seeking a little fresh air to clear her lungs.

Turning, she rested her back against the doorpost. Her eyes were watering a little from the airborne irritants. She only just managed to keep from wiping at them with her own hands, realizing at the last second that they were probably covered with the same itchy crud. Fumbling around on the wall behind her, she managed to get her hand on a rag hanging there from a nail. They were normally used to clean the horses' tack after a particularly long and dusty ride. After giving it a few vigorous flaps to shake off the worst of whatever dust might have fallen on it, she dabbed at her eyes until the stinging subsided. Then she returned her attention to the mess she had inadvertently made.

Most of the haze had cleared now, and the light from the open door also aided visibility. From this angle, however, Anna's eyes were no longer drawn to the newly flattened mound of dried stalks. She had thought that the straw had been piled up right against the end wall, but she could now see that wasn't actually the case. There was, in fact, a little gap behind it. More to the point, there was something that had been hiding within that small space. She squinted and leaned forward, trying to make it out.

As Anna slowly realized what it was, she was struck with a wave of mixed nostalgia and guilt. How could she have forgotten this?

She slowly moved back into the enclosed area, using the rag to fan away the few remaining motes that threatened to float into her eyes once again. Climbing easily over the much shallower pile, she arrived beside the now familiar object. She reached out and touched it lightly, almost afraid that it was only her imagination playing tricks on her and that it might evaporate before her eyes. It proved to be perfectly solid, however. A smile spread across her dust-covered face.

Grabbing hold of her find, she began maneuvering it out from behind the straw. It wasn't easy, since the contraption was a little long and decidedly awkward. In the end, she had to retrace her steps, retrieve the fallen pitchfork, and clear a path along the outer edge of the straw. At last, however, she was able to free the long forgotten treasure from its years of imprisonment. Anna wheeled her prize out through the stable door and into the light of the courtyard in order to examine it better.

It was covered in even more dust and dirt than she herself was. And yet, when she wiped that grime away, the metal underneath was still bright and unblemished. The wooden parts were smooth and uncracked. The protection offered by the stable and the straw had managed to keep it dry and free from rust and rot for almost four years.

Ducking back inside the door, Anna returned a moment later with another rag that she had wetted in a nearby water bucket. Then she set to work, diligently scrubbing off the dingy coating of neglect that obscured the spindly frame. After a few minutes, she stepped back and allowed herself to admire the results.

The bicycle leaned against the open stable door. Anna had been five years old the last time she'd seen it, so her memories of it were somewhat hazy. Still, even if she couldn't remember exactly what it had looked like back then, what mattered was what it had meant. That much, she remembered quite clearly.

It had been a gift, of course, from their parents. Not a birthday gift, though, because it had been specifically meant for both of them together. Nor had it come on Midsummer's Eve. In fact, it hadn't been associated with any holiday at all. They had merely burst out of the castle's front door one morning after breakfast to find it there in the courtyard, waiting for them.

Anna remembered clapping her hands and bouncing up and down in delight. She'd turned to look at her sister, who looked back at her with a broad grin of her own. Then they'd both rushed forward to examine it in great detail.

It was, naturally, a bicycle built for two. The rider in the front seat pedaled the front wheel, which they could also turn back and forth using the handlebars. The back seat, meanwhile, was positioned right above the rear wheel, which meant that the distance between it and the back pedals was considerably shorter. This mismatched relationship was perfect, of course, and there hadn't been any argument about that fact that Elsa would be the driver and Anna would ride behind.

They'd circled round and around the amazing little machine, taking in the fine wood on the seats and handle grips, the graceful curve of the down tube, the skinny spokes that seemed too impossibly thin to actually support their weight. There had been much pointing and gasping and excited laughter. Minutes had passed before they finally looked up and saw their mother and father standing in the palace doorway, arms wrapped around each other, smiling happily at their two little girls.

The two princesses had run back then. Elsa had wrapped her arms around Papa and Anna had clung to Mama's leg. A flood of thank yous poured out of them both, followed shortly thereafter by tugs on hands and pleas to teach them how to ride. It was with some embarrassment that both of their parents were forced to admit that neither of them had ever ridden one themselves. After all, this invention was still rather new and somewhat uncommon.

So it was that the two sisters had taught themselves through trial and error, along with more than a few barked elbows and knees. Once they'd finally gotten the hang of it, though, there had been no stopping them. Visitors to the castle had to be warned by the gate wardens when the two girls were out in the courtyard on their marvelous machine. Most of them found it to be a source of jolly amusement to watch the two youngsters speeding across the flagstones, even if it meant that a little extra care had to be taken when approaching the palace. Only the most curmudgeonly had ever complained about the inconvenience to the steward or, heaven forbid, the king. None of them ever bothered to do so more than once.

The last time Anna could remember riding with Elsa had been maybe a week before their lives had been inexplicably turned upside-down. They had been circling around and between the two courtyard fountains, trying to see how fast they could go without losing control. Anna kept trying to persuade her sister that it would be more of a challenge, and therefore much more fun, to weave in and out amid the columns around the walls that supported the upper ramparts. Elsa, being the one who would have to steer that twisty course, was less enthusiastic about the idea. The debate had ended abruptly, however, with a boom of thunder and a sudden cloudburst.

Her sister had quickly adjusted their course towards the nearest shelter, which had just happened to be the stables. As soon as they came to a stop, Anna had hopped off and rushed back into the courtyard, not minding the rain one bit and eager to find a nice puddle to play in. She hadn't been allowed to enjoy herself for long, however. Nanny's voice had soon bellowed from the front door demanding that they both come inside that instant. Reluctantly, Anna had obeyed.

As soon as she got inside, however, and saw Nanny holding two thick towels, her attitude had worsened considerably. She hated whenever Nanny tried to dry her off. It always felt like her hair was being pulled out by the roots. What followed next had been a very merry (at least in the young princess's opinion) chase throughout the castle. Her wet footprints had spattered the floors behind her and made it a far greater challenge than usual to try to hide – which naturally made it all the more fun!

In all the excitement, she'd never seen where Elsa had left their bike. Shortly thereafter, other dramatic events had completely driven it from her mind. Eventually, she had thought about it again and gone looking for it, but had never been able to find it. Finally, she'd given up the search, and in time had nearly forgotten about the faithful little vehicle.

Looking at it now, she suddenly had a startling realization. Tilting it away from the door and rolling it a short distance out into the courtyard, she threw her leg over the top tube and settled herself into the seat. Pushing off to impart a little bit of forward momentum, she lifted her feet off the ground and placed them on the pedals.

The front pedals. The front seat.

She was a year older now than Elsa had been the last time they'd ridden their bike together. She was big enough to steer on her own, big enough to be the one to decide where she went. Now was her chance. She could go wherever she wanted to go. She could finally dare to defy those columns she'd wanted to test herself against all those years ago. It was her choice. She was in control. She was in the driver's seat.

She was in Elsa's seat.

The bicycle skidded to a halt, metal wheels scraping a thin gouge across the top of the stonework. This was wrong. She didn't belong here. This was not her bike, it was _their_ bike. More importantly, this was not her seat. It was Elsa's.

Gingerly, she dismounted and pushed the bike back to the stables. Propping it up against the door again, she walked back inside. Laying the pitchfork across the top of the wheelbarrow, she lifted the handles with some effort and pushed it down the row of stalls until she reached Adelen's. There, she finished covering the last of the thin spots on the floor.

With that done, she went and fetched her horse from where she had tied him near the big feeding trough. Leading him back to his stall, she ushered him inside. Digging into the pocket of her coat, she pulled out the split halves of what had once been a whole carrot. It must have snapped when she'd fallen into the wheelbarrow, but Adelen didn't seem to mind as she held the pieces out to him and scratched his forehead.

Satisfied that the horse was comfortably squared away, she closed and bolted his stall door. Then she returned the little cart and pitchfork back to their places near the straw pile. She shook out the two rags she had used, rinsed them with water from the bucket, then draped them over the top of a short half-wall to air dry. Then at last, brushing at her dusty garments in a mostly futile gesture, she stepped back out into the courtyard, closing the last of the stable doors behind her.

Grabbing hold of the bicycle by the handlebars, she began pushing it back across the cobblestones toward the palace. She'd go in through one of the side entrances, instead of tracking all this dirt and dust through the grand foyer. Then, once she'd had a chance to clean up, she would go to her sister's room and tell her all about her discovery.

She hoped that might be enough to get Elsa to engage in some reminiscences about those carefree days. It had certainly brought back some memories and smiles to Anna herself, so who knew? Either way, she was glad that she had found it again. And even though she was almost certainly too big to ride comfortably in her old position on the rear seat now, she would wait and save the front seat for the day when her big sister came out and was ready to reclaim it once again. After all, Anna's birthday was coming up soon... and she couldn't think of any better present than that.

By this time, she'd reached the side door and was struggling to pull it open while also keeping the bicycle from tipping over. At last, after a bit of acrobatic contortion, she was able to get both the bike and herself inside. As she wheeled it carefully through back corridors and tried to work out exactly how she was going to get it upstairs to her room, another thought occurred to her that brought a fresh smile to her begrimed face.

_You know, there _are_ other ways to ride a bike besides sitting in the driver's seat..._

* * *

**A/N: A shout-out to Jane at neworleansladyjane, torik on TVTropes, Kasia Skyler from YouTube, and every last one of my regular readers. This story is pushing 170,000 words already, but no words can describe how much your continued support means to me. My thanks go out to all of you.**


	46. All These Empty Rooms

The chill gray light that slowly filtered into her bedroom did not rouse Anna right away that morning. Instead, she drifted up only reluctantly from the pleasant depths of her slumber. Her eyes opened once, then drooped heavily back down. She would have dug herself deeper under the warm covers, but her body felt too pleasantly heavy right where it was to bother.

She knew that she ought to get up, and not just because that's what most people tended to do in the morning. No, she was pretty sure that there was some other, more specific reason why she ought not to be lingering in bed. She just couldn't quite remember what it was. The bed was far too comfortable, and she was still too sleepy.

Well, she supposed that was what she got for lying awake in bed so long the night before. If she hadn't been so excited that she'd been unable to get to sleep, she wouldn't be paying for it now. It was all her own fault, really. But in the end, what difference would it make if she just slept in a little longer now? It wasn't like she was going to miss anything important. After all, today was only...

That was when Anna's eyes snapped wide open. It isn't easy to jump up when you're lying on your side, and yet she somehow managed to leap off the bed and onto her feet in what appeared to be a single motion. Her eyes turned toward the window and she drew in her breath in excitement. There was frost covering the panes!

Scurrying across the room, she bounded up onto the padded bench and furiously searched for a gap through the fern-like patterns of ice. Finally finding a narrow opening, she pressed her eye to it and peered out.

Her spirits were only slightly deflated when she saw the same bare tree limbs and patchy brownish grass that had adorned the gardens for the last several weeks. She hadn't told anyone, but she'd been secretly hoping that it would snow today. The ceiling of overcast clouds that had rolled down from the mountains the last few days had looked promising. However, she could only make out a few desultory flakes drifting lazily down through the air.

Oh well, it didn't really matter all that much. It would only have been the icing on the cake, so to speak. Immediately, the thought of cake lifted her spirits right back up to their previous heights. With a giggle, she dropped down to the floor. Without even a glance at the closed doors of her wardrobe, she darted across the room, heading for the hallway. The only concession she made to the winter chill was to scoop up her slippers on the way, hopping to put them on with one hand as she opened her door with the other. Then, she was off like a shot.

"Elsa! Elsa! You know what day it is?"

Anna began calling before she even reached her sister's door, and probably while she was still well out of earshot, to tell the truth. To be fair, she had been looking forward to this day for six months, ever since that morning when she'd run breathlessly into the dining room and discovered an unexpected surprise sitting at the breakfast table.

Just before that minor miracle had occurred, her heart had been singing to her that anything was possible on such a special occasion. Well last night, it had begun whispering in her ear once again. That was what had kept her up so late, more than anything else. Her sensible side, the part that would have reminded her exactly how that particular morning had actually ended, had put up only a token resistance before meekly surrendering. Since then, it seemed to have decided that going into hibernation for the rest of the winter would be a most excellent idea.

So now here she stood, her mind filling with unfettered enthusiasm and a series of wondrous maybes. If that day had been able to bring forth such rare marvels, then why not today? It was every bit as special, wasn't it? Anna certainly thought so. After all, today was...

"It's my birthday!" she cried out, unable to wait for her sister's reply. "Only one more year and I'll finally get to prove Nanny wrong. She always said that I'd never live to see my tenth year if I kept falling out of trees all the time. Well, I've made it this far, and by now I'm a good enough climber that I don't even have to worry about falling anymore! You know, except for when I do." Her grin widened, showing not the slightest hint of embarrassment.

"Oh, I have the feeling that today is going to be a great day," Anna continued, barely pausing for breath. "There's just something in the air. Can you feel it? It's almost like... like... Like waking up to find that it snowed overnight, and you look out the window, and everything's just sparkling and white, and nobody's been out yet so there are no footprints, and the entire world looks like a painting that hasn't been finished yet, and you can just imagine all the endless possibilities for what it might become, but it's just waiting for someone to come along and pick one, and so you think 'I could be that someone,' and you just want to grab a brush and rush outside and start painting.

"Well, no, not painting. I mean, you can't paint snow. At least, I don't think you can; I've never actually tried. That is, I suppose you could paint snow, you know, on a canvas or something. But you couldn't paint the snow outside. Unless you took the canvas outside, I guess, in which case you would be painting outside, and if you were painting snow, then you'd technically be painting snow outside. Just not the snow on the ground. Then again, maybe if you were to..."

Anna stopped and crinkled up her face in exasperation. "Okay okay, so I'm not that good at metaphors. But you know what I mean, right? It just seems like anything could happen! It's just that kind of day. Don't you agree, Elsa?"

She finally stopped talking long enough to actually give her sister a fighting chance to respond. However, though the seconds ticked by, no answering voice was to be heard.

"Elsa? Elsa, are you in there?"

There was that familiar silence again. Only now, Anna remembered clearly the last time she'd stood outside this door so early in the morning, calling out to her sister but receiving no reply. She remembered the panic she had felt then, but she also remembered the real reason her calls had gone unheeded. She remembered the surprise that had awaited her when she had burst into the dining room. She remembered the simple but glorious birthday celebration that had followed.

She remembered.

She grinned again.

Then she broke into a run.

This time, she didn't bother risking a tumble on the stairs. Besides, both her feet and her spirits were far too light to be held down for that long. Instead, a bounding leap lifted her up to snag the pillar at the top of the staircase. Spinning around it with a whoop of laughter, she landed squarely atop the banister. As she corkscrewed down two stories, she couldn't help but wonder why she ever bothered to descend the normal way. Normal, she decided, was highly overrated.

When she reached the bottom, she practically bounced up off the railing, only to hit the ground running. Careening around the corner, she finished the short sprint down the passageway and skidded to a halt just outside the dining room. The door was open and she hurried inside, her face beaming with anticipation.

"Good morning, Anna!"

"And happy birthday!"

Her mother and father sat at the table. Gerda stood just behind them, filling the queen's cup with tea from the steaming pot. All three had looked up upon her arrival, and were now smiling at her with cheerful affection. Nevertheless, Anna felt her face fall.

"Where's Elsa?" she asked, her tone a touch more belligerent than she had intended.

"In her room, I expect," her father answered, looking vaguely surprised at the question.

Anna shook her head. "I was just there. I was trying to talk to her, but she didn't answer. So I'd hoped... I thought that she might be down here. You know, just like..." She let her voice trail off in obvious disappointment.

Agdar glanced over at his wife, who had raised her teacup to her lips but stopped before she'd actually taken a cautious sip. Instead, she was looking over the rim at their younger daughter. Presently, she lowered the cup back onto its saucer and then spoke in a soft voice.

"I'm afraid Elsa hasn't been feeling very well lately, Anna. She's says that she isn't sick, but something has clearly put her out of sorts these last few weeks."

"She never said anything about it to me!" Anna declared, unable to keep a grumpy pout off her face. Still, as she thought about it, Elsa's part in their daily conversations had been steadily dwindling of late. It had been noticeable enough that she'd begun to have concerns of her own. Had that been another sign of whatever was ailing her sister?

Her mother was speaking again. "I'm sure she just didn't want to worry you, sweetheart. Besides, Elsa always has been a rather private person."

_Not with me, _Anna thought. _At least, not until..._ But she kept those thoughts to herself. What she said instead was, "Do you think she's okay? I mean, if she hasn't been feeling well, then..."

The queen looked down into her teacup for a moment before responding. "I've been worried too. So I checked on her last night as she was getting ready for bed. Even then, though, I really couldn't see anything wrong, except that perhaps she seemed rather worn out. If she didn't answer you this morning, then maybe she was just too deeply asleep. If that's all she needs, then I really would rather not wake her."

Ellinor seemed to be having an internal debate with herself as she struggled to decide on the best course of action. All eyes in the room were upon her, waiting to see what conclusion she would finally reach. They were all rather surprised, then, when it was Agdar who spoke.

"Why don't we give her a few more hours? Then later this morning, you and I," and he touched his wife on the shoulder, "can go up and see how she's doing."

"Can I come too?" Anna piped up immediately.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea, princess," her father answered. "Elsa might just be tired. But if it turns out to be something more serious, we wouldn't want you to catch it." Seeing the look of disappointment on his daughter's face, he added. "On the other hand, if she is feeling better, I'll personally see to it that you're the first one to know, as soon as we do. Fair enough?"

Anna considered this, then grudgingly nodded. She really couldn't expect anything more. Besides, what mattered most was that Elsa feel better again and soon.

"Good," Agdar smiled. "Now I could be mistaken, but wasn't somebody saying something earlier about a birthday?"

The princess smiled. And if it wasn't quite as big of a smile as she'd worn earlier, nobody seemed to notice. She walked over to the table, and her parents both shifted over to make room for her to sit between them. Gerda patted her shoulder and kissed her affectionately upon the top of her head before slipping quietly out of the room to allow them to celebrate this special day together as a family.

Well, most of the family, at any rate.

• • •

After breakfast, Anna opened her presents. These included several beautiful new dresses to replace the favorites that she'd recently outgrown, a selection of combs and brushes for grooming Adelen, and a pair of knee-high riding boots that fit so perfect they had to have been custom-made (even though Anna was at a loss as to when her parents could have gotten her exact measurements).

At her mother's insistence, she even changed into one of the new outfits: a blouse of Persian green with an olive green bodice and a Prussian blue skirt. As she twirled around to better show it off from every angle, she saw her mother watching her. Her hands were pressed together palm-to-palm in front of her chin, and she wore a smile on her face that said more clearly than any words, "Look at my beautiful little girl!"

Shortly thereafter, however, her father was forced to beg their forgiveness and excuse himself when Kai came and informed him of a small but urgent matter that required his attention. The steward, executing a deep bow, extended his own wishes for the happiest of days to the princess. Then he turned and swiftly followed the king out of the room, leaving just Anna and her mother alone at the table.

"Well, sweetheart," Ellinor began then, "it looks like it's just you and me now. Fortunately, I have nothing planned for the next hour or two. So, what would you like to do next?"

Anna hesitated, because she really wasn't comfortable giving the most honest answer to that question. Instead, she finally said, "I don't know. I was thinking maybe I'd go down to the stables and visit Adelen for a little while." While her mother had a horse of her own, of course, Anna had rarely seen the queen visit the stables except when she was preparing to go out for a ride. That was the reason she had chosen that particular option. Unfortunately, it didn't work quite like she'd planned.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," her mother replied enthusiastically. "I haven't been down there for so long, my poor dear Trofaste probably won't even recognize me." She start to rise from her chair. "Just let me steal some sugar cubes from Gerda. Then we can head down and give both of our friends a little treat. You can even try out your new grooming kit!"

Inwardly, Anna winced. She'd been hoping to avoid giving a bluntly truthful response to the earlier question, for fear of hurting her mother's feeling. Now, however, it looked like she had no other choice.

"Actually, Mama, I'd just kinda... well, that is..." She sighed. "I'd like to have a little time alone for a while. That is, if you wouldn't mind."

Anna caught it for the briefest of instants: that fleeting look of disappointment on her mother's face. It probably would have gone unnoticed by anyone outside the family (with the possible exception of Gerda), but it was almost enough to make the young princess change her mind. The queen recovered quickly, though, and with a gracious smile replied, "Of course, sweetheart. This is your day. You can spend it however you'd like."

Still feeling guilty, Anna leaned over in her chair and planted a longer-than-usual kiss on her mother's cheek. "Thank you," she said. Then she dropped down and walked at a carefully measured pace to the door. Before she left, she turned back, smiled, and waved goodbye. Her mother returned both the expression and the gesture. Then Anna stepped out into the hallway.

She paused only for a moment before choosing a direction and heading off. She did not head toward the courtyard and the stables, however. A minute later, she pushed open a tall door just far enough to slip inside the room beyond. Closing it behind her, she turned and looked at all the familiar faces in the portrait gallery.

She needed to talk to someone. Elsa wasn't answering. Father was busy. She'd seen how troubled Mother already was over her sister's health, and she didn't want to add to her worries. Maybe she could have gone to Gerda, but as dearly as she loved the kindly old woman, this just wasn't something she felt comfortable sharing with her. In large part, that was because she wasn't really comfortable even admitting it to herself.

She made one rapid circuit around the room, gazing up at all the paintings, trying to decide which one looked like they would be the most sympathetic listener. In the end, though, there really had never been any doubt. Collapsing onto the long seat against the wall, Anna looked up at the one figure who had, in the past year, somehow become her secret confidante.

"Do you think I'm a bad person, Joan?"

She paused, not in anticipation of an answer, but merely to collect her own thoughts. "I don't mean to be. I try to be friendly and helpful and cheerful. And to be honest, I don't even need to try most of the time. I'm usually a happy person, and I like to help others, so it mostly just comes naturally.

"But when Elsa didn't come down to breakfast this morning... Well, I felt hurt and angry. I know I shouldn't have. It wasn't like she'd given me any indication that she was planning to or anything. Still, I'd been secretly hoping that she might surprise me for weeks now. And when she didn't, all I could think was, 'Why could she come down for her birthday but not for mine?'"

Anna squeezed her eyes tightly shut before she continued. "Then Mother told me that Elsa hadn't been feeling well and... I just felt terrible. There I was, thinking only about myself. And all this time, Elsa's been sick? And I didn't even notice! What kind of a sister does that make me?"

She opened her eyes again and peered up at the eternally youthful visage above her. Her brow creased as she struggled to remember something. "You had a younger sister, didn't you? I can't remember her name, but I wonder. When you left home to enter the King's service, did she miss you as much as I miss Elsa?"

The princess examined the heroine's face, set in lines of stern determination as she led the French troops into battle. Yet, even though it could just have been her own imagination, Anna thought she saw a sadness there too. How much must the Maid of Orléans have sacrificed to protect the ones she loved, even before her untimely death? Had she ever resented it? Might she not have preferred to stay at home, in the company of those she loved?

During the last year, Anna had searched the library for any books that had anything to say about Joan's life. Now, she recalled a quote from one of them that had been attributed to Joan herself. How had it gone? Something like, "Although I would rather have remained at my mother's side... yet must I go." The words had resonated with Anna. When she had read them, she'd almost heard them in Elsa's voice. And whenever she remembered the quote, she often substituted a different word for "mother."

Today, though, she found another layer of meaning behind the quote. It said to her that yes, even a young woman so noble, brave, and selfless might, from time to time, allow herself to lament the loss of something that heartless fate had stolen away from her. This was nothing to be ashamed of. It was merely human nature, not a sin.

The kinship that Anna felt towards her painted friend grew just a little deeper at that moment. She smiled sympathetically up at the portrait, grateful as always to have found such an understanding listener. She only wished that there had been some way in which she could have returned the favor, some way she could have lightened the other girl's heavy burden.

"Hang in there, Joan," she said encouragingly. In the end, it was the most she could do. With that, she rolled off the settee and, with one last fond glance upwards, turned and left the room.

Now, though, some of the bounce had definitely returned to her step. With her mood thus improved, Anna went looking for her mother, hoping that maybe it wasn't too late to make amends for her earlier snubbing of the offer of company. Neither of her parents were anywhere to be found, however. She even checked the stables, thinking that maybe the queen had gone down there on her own to visit Trofaste after all. Adelen was the only familiar face she found, though, and she hadn't even thought to stop by the kitchens to fetch a treat for him.

Hoping he would be satisfied with a few fond scratches, she hurried back to the palace. In her haste, she had also neglected to grab her winter coat, and the strong winds blowing across the courtyard were making things bitterly cold. Once back inside, she noticed that her parents weren't the only ones who didn't seem to be about. All the corridors seemed even quieter and emptier than usual. The temperature was continuing to drop, and she supposed most of the staff were staying behind closed doors to hold in the warmth of their fires.

However, the lack of witnesses. – er, other people – reminded Anna of something she'd been wanting to try for a while now, but which she had resisted for fear of... Well, the point was that she had resisted. But today _was_ her birthday, after all. And hadn't her mother said that she could spend it however she wanted? Anna grinned mischievously as she sprinted all the way back to her room.

Seconds later, she poked her head out of the door, making sure that the coast was still clear. Then, she wheeled the bicycle out into the hallway. Lining it up alongside the wall, she placed one foot on the lowered pedal, one hand on the vertical surface behind it for support, then pushed herself straight upward.

The bike immediately tipped away from the wall and nearly dumped her onto the floor.

Undaunted, Anna tried again. And again. On the fifth attempt, she finally found herself perched atop the rear seat, her right hand against the wall to steady both her and the bike. It certainly was a precarious perch, though. She couldn't really fit both feet on the little seat at once, to the point where she actually found it easier to balance if she just lifted one leg up into the air. Even then, the whole thing tottered ominously beneath her.

She shifted her weight back and forth and from side to side, trying to get a feel for how the cycle moved in response. She slid her hand forward along the wall, then pulled herself along behind it. The front handlebars began to turn, threatening to veer straight into the wallpaper. She quickly leaned to the left, but just a little too much. The front wheel flipped left with alarming speed. The bike overbalanced and immediately began to topple away from the wall.

Anna leaped down and just managed to grab hold of the seat before the contraption could slam noisily to the floor. Her heart racing with the thrill of the adventure, she stole a glance up and down the hall to make sure that she was still alone. Then she rolled the bike back to where she had started, planted her foot, and attempted to mount it once again.

It only took her two tries this time before she was once again balancing one-legged on the back seat. Again, she began to slowly pull herself along the wall, trying to figure out exactly how far she needed to lean to steer properly. She might be a little clumsy at times (alright, if she was being honest, there was no "might" about it), but that was usually because she tended to get distracted so easily and just completely forgot to pay attention to what her hands and feet were doing. When she put her mind to it, however, she actually had a very good sense of balance – a talent that had been finally honed along many a tree branch.

She rolled backwards and forwards along the wall several more times before she finally thought she had the hang of it. For some people, that would have been enough progress for one day. For Anna, it only served to whet her appetite.

She backed the bicycle to the very end of the hall. Then she reached as far forward as she dared, pressed her hand firmly against the wall, and pulled. As the bike rolled forward, she did this again. Each time, she picked up a little more speed. When it finally felt like she had developed sufficient velocity to maintain her momentum, she pushed instead of pulled.

The bike swung out into the middle of the corridor. Anna threw her arms out to either side, to help her balance. She kept her eyes glued to the front wheel, which wobbled constantly to and fro as if it had a mind of its own. She was continuously shifting position, just to keep herself upright and traveling in something close to a straight line. But she was doing it!

A grin spread across her face. She'd known that there had to be some way to ride the two-seater without usurping Elsa's traditional place. Now here she was, proving it. Even she had to admit, though, that she was more than a little surprised she'd gotten the hang of it so quickly. She'd thought for sure that it would take her longer than it actually had. Granted, steering this way was tricky, but apparently as long as she only wanted to go in a straight line and there weren't any obstacles in her way...

That was when she noticed out of the corner of her eye that there was suddenly no more wall along her right side. Instead, there were just the beautifully curved and painted arches of the railing that overlooked the staircase at the end of the hall.

She couldn't help but look up then, and the first thing she saw was the curved wall looming up directly ahead of her. Instinct took over, and she shied away from it. As she leaned to the side, of course, the bike followed suit. It turned in a graceful arc and – to Anna's eternal amazement, terror, and excitement – rolled right off the edge of the floor onto the top step. Then the second. And the third.

Anna was uncomfortably jostled up and down with each little drop, adding yet another wrinkle to her already complicated balancing act. Even so, the only thought in her mind was how absolutely incredible it all was! She would have laughed out loud, except that she was too busy concentrating on simply remaining upright.

She did begin to get a little nervous, however, when she realized that the downward pull of gravity was now accelerating her descent at a somewhat alarming rate. Fortunately, the bike's momentum wanted to pull it in a straight line rather than following the graceful downward spiral. Stretching out with questing fingertips, her left hand soon brushed the wall. A moment later and she was able to apply enough pressure to help stabilize both her balance and her course.

She was feeling quite proud of both her quick thinking and her uncanny equilibrium. Nevertheless, she realized that she was pressing her luck quite badly, and that the sensible thing to do would be to just hop off while she still had some measure of control. On the other hand, she'd only just managed to reclaim this bike, and it wasn't hers alone either. If she abandoned it now, who knew what kind of state it would be in by the time it finally reached the bottom. It didn't seem right to put at risk something that had come to mean so much to her in such a short time. It felt like doing so would be some sort of betrayal.

In the end, the decision was made for her when both she and the bike abruptly ran out of staircase. This might actually have been a relief, had it not been for the suit of armor that was suddenly towering up right in front of her. Worse still was the heavy wooden plinth upon which it stood. The bike's front wheel slammed straight into the slablike base, causing the spindly vehicle to come to a sudden and rather noisy halt. The back of the bike actually rose into the air with the collision, adding just a small upward impulse to Anna's continuing forward momentum. Dreading the inevitable and bone-jarring impact that awaited her, all she had time to do was close her eyes tightly shut.

_CLANG!_

Clang? Anna had been expecting a wham, or at least a good solid thud. But a clang? She opened her eyes.

And found herself somehow cradled in the arms of the hollow knight with which she had just collided. For a moment, she just blinked stupidly at the absolutely unbelievable trick of chance. Then the laughter that had begun building up in her chest back at the top of stairs suddenly burst forth in uncontrollable peals. Her entire body shook from head to toe with the force of her amazed relief.

That was probably just a little too much for poor suit of armor. With a snap, the right shoulder gave way. As the arm dropped to the floor with a metallic clatter, her feet fell as well. For a moment, she just dangled by her armpits from the left forearm. Then, whatever stiff joint had been holding the armored elbow out at a right angle also let loose.

Such a short fall was nothing to an experienced tree climber as Anna, of course. She landed lightly on her feet beside the upturned bike. Another giggle escaped her as she marveled at her luck. Apparently it really was true that fortune favors fools!

Turning to look up at her (now somewhat worse for wear) champion, she dipped her skirts in a grateful curtsey. "Thank you, brave Sir Knight. My hero!" Standing on tiptoe, she kissed the hand that dangled limply at the end of the one still attached arm. Then bending down, she grabbed the bike's handlebars and managed to flip it upright once more.

"Goodness sakes, what is all this ruckus?"

Anna heard Gerda's voice and knew she had only seconds before the startled woman appeared around the corner. Looking about quickly, she sprinted for the nearest doorway, pulling the bike along beside her. The room beyond the door turned out to be a small pantry, really little more than an oversized closet. Mercifully, the provisions it had once housed were no longer needed because of the dramatic staff reductions, and apparently no one had yet found a reason to repurpose it. She was able to fit the bike inside easily, then squeezed in after it and closed the door behind her just in the nick of time.

Gerda's sharp tsk of disapproval made it clear that she had instantly spotted the damage. Of course, the princess had something of a history when it came to leaving pieces of armor in places other than where they'd started, so she didn't expect there to be doubt in anyone's mind who had been the culprit in this case. She just didn't want anybody to know the incredibly ridiculous and dangerous way in which she'd gone about it. She would never hear the end of it.

Deciding that it would be too risky to be caught trying to get the bike back upstairs at the moment, she waited silently in her hiding place for many minutes, even after the sounds of banging metal had faded away. With a bit of effort, she was able to lower herself to her hands and knees in the cramped space and peek out under the door. Then, she dared to open it a crack in order to get a better peek outside.

Satisfied that no one else was around, she slipped out of the pantry and closed the door quickly behind her. Then she hurried off as quietly as she could, looking to put some comfortable distance between herself and the scene of the crime. In the end, she made her way to the library, simply because it seemed like the safest, most responsible, and least exciting place she could be. Given what had just happened, she felt that would be a wise change of pace.

Anna didn't turn to the book shelves, however, or even to one of the comfy pieces of furniture that adorned the room. Instead, she just flopped down on the floor and stared up at the grandfather clock that ticked slowly away near the window. It was a little past 10 o'clock.

The problem was that, at that moment, reading held absolutely no appeal to her. It was her birthday. She wanted to play, laugh, and have fun. More than that, though, she wanted somebody who would play, laugh, and have fun with her. It was all too clear the trouble she could get into when left solely to her own devices in the throes of sufficient boredom.

She missed Marie. She missed Elsa. She wouldn't have believed it, but she even missed Nanny. There were so few people left in the palace now, and most of them were kept busy with their duties nearly all of the time. At least Anna had been Nanny's duty.

Usually, Anna was pretty good at finding ways to keep herself amused, or at least distracted. But every now and then, there would come a day when she simply ran out of ideas and nothing else she could think of would seem at all interesting. Those days dragged on forever.

She just never expected her birthday to become one of them.

Her eyes followed the clock's brass pendulum as it swung back and forth behind the glass, each sweep marking another second slipping by. For a while, she tried to keep count, just for something to do. She soon lost track, however. Instead, the numbers were simply replaced by the incessant rhythm of the march of time.

Tick, tock. Tick tock. Tick tock...

• • •

Anna was running through a snow-covered landscape. Big fat flakes fell steadily all around her, so large that she thought she could make out each and every geometric pattern. As she ran, she wasn't sure if she was leading or following, because her role seemed to keep shifting. Sometimes, she'd be looking back over her shoulder and calling out for the slowpoke behind her to keep up. The next moment, she was chasing after the bouncing blonde braid ahead of her, hearing the sounds of crystalline laughter being carried back to her on the winter wind.

There also seemed to be figures cavorting alongside her, but they were difficult to make out because they were pure white against the white snowscape. Sometimes, one of them would come to a mound of drifted snow, but it wouldn't climb over it like she had to do. Instead, it just ran straight ahead and disappeared into the little hillock. Then, a little distance away, another figure (the same one or different, she could never tell) would rise up out of the ground as if it were climbing a hidden staircase. When its feet broke the surface, however, there would be no sign of any opening behind it. It would simply keep running (or cartwheeling or somersaulting) along.

Now and then, the figures would start to play games with each other. Leapfrog seemed popular, but it was unlike any version she'd ever seen. Instead of one simply jumping over the other, the one behind would lift its head off its shoulders and throw it up in the air. Then the one in front would jump up and try to catch it while the now headless body ran past underneath him. Most of the time, the head simply landed back on its original shoulders. Every once in a while, though, the leaper would actually manage to catch it, at which point it would pull off its own head, toss it to the other figure, and then screw the newly captured head into place atop its own body.

Their antics were so silly that Anna had to laugh. The joyful sound came back to her from every direction... except that it wasn't her own laughter. That was when she realized that, while she'd been distractedly looking elsewhere, she had lost sight of her one human companion.

She stopped and turned slowly in place. The white figures had stopped too, and they stood in a ragged circle all about her, but there was no sign now of the familiar blonde head. She didn't find this particularly worrisome, however. It was more like the game had suddenly changed from tag to hide-and-seek. Somehow she knew that one of these frosty white forms was concealing her quarry. She just had to figure out which one.

And so she began darting from figure to figure, peeking around behind them, poking her fingers into their bellies, now and then lifting off their heads to see if the face she sought might be concealed inside. It was hard to keep track of them all, though, since they all looked completely identical. She had the feeling that she'd actually examined a few of them multiple times. She was just starting to realize that there might be no end to her search when she felt something tap on her shoulder.

She spun around to find herself standing face to face with her sister. Elsa was wearing a white dress that blended into the wintery scene nearly as well as the snowmen did. Her pale skin and hair didn't stand out all that much more, really. Anna tried to speak, but Elsa held a single finger up to her own smiling lips.

As she lowered her hand, Elsa began to move her mouth slowly in silent speech. Somehow, though, Anna heard the words inside her head with perfect clarity, and she involuntarily gasped. They were magical words, and not just because of the way they came to her. These were the words she'd longed to hear from her sister for so long now.

Grinning, Anna nodded enthusiastically. She somehow got the impression that all around her, the snowmen were cheering, even though they made no sound. With an eager excitement burning in her chest, Anna reached out to take her sister by the hand...

• • •

...and the grandfather clock chimed eleven.

Anna jerked awake, feeling more than a little embarrassed at having fallen asleep on the floor like that. Then again, that dream alone made the unintended nap well worth it. She could still feel the smile on her face, which had been there from the moment she'd woken up. Oh, if only it had all been real.

The princess rolled over and climbed to her feet. As she did so, she realized what she really wanted to do on her birthday, more than anything else. Unfortunately, it required a little bit of help from Mother Nature, and it didn't seem like she was in a very cooperative mood today. Nevertheless, Anna couldn't help herself. She stepped into the window alcove and, finding the seam in the curtains, parted them just enough to glance quickly outside.

An instant later, the curtains had been thrown apart. Anna, now standing on the bench beneath the window, gazed out in awe and wonder.

Most of the curtains and shutters in the palace had been kept closed for these last several years, so Anna hadn't had a chance to grab a casual glance outside since she'd returned from the stables. That (along with certain other distractions) was why she hadn't noticed the thick layer of new-fallen snow that now covered the castle grounds, as well as the foothills of the mountains on the other side of the fjord.

Anna's heart soared. One of her birthday wishes had come true! She'd been hoping for snow on her birthday, and now there it was! Suddenly, all boredom and melancholy fell away from her. She felt like she was five years old again, instead of nine. She was almost ready to run straight outside, once again without even bothering to fetch her coat.

But that wouldn't be right. Because after all, if one birthday wish could come true, why not two?

She barely even noticed the intervening time or distance. The next thing she knew, she was standing outside Elsa's door, hopping from one foot to the other in her excitement.

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock!_

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

The question she had just heard in her dream flowed out of her like song. This was it. She knew it. This was why Elsa hadn't come down earlier that morning. It had all been so that everything could align at this moment, this one perfect moment. This was going to be her best birthday ever!

But there was no response from the other side of the door.

"Or... ride our bike around the halls?" Anna's voice was just the slightest bit plaintive, as she offered up the first alternative that popped into her head. After all, it didn't really matter _that_ much what they did together. Even if they just sat and talked, that would be wonderful. Maybe the snow and her dream had just been signs that the time was right and that Elsa was ready. There was no reason to take them so literally.

But the continuing silence in the hallway bit into Anna like ravenous wolves.

This wasn't right. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go. The door was supposed to open and Elsa would be standing there, smiling her shy little smile. And Anna would smile back. And then Elsa would step out of her room and they'd go... somewhere. Or maybe Anna would step inside her sister's room. That would be fine too. They'd both enjoy that. It would still be an extraordinary birthday present. She couldn't ask for any more than that.

"I think some company is overdue," Anna called out, but she heard her voice quaver despite her best efforts. She attempted to cover it with a self-deprecating little laugh. "I've started talking to the pictures on the..."

She stopped abruptly when the door began to open. Her eyes lit up in anticipation and her smile came back, bigger and brighter than ever. She'd been right! It was going to happen! She'd been dreaming about it for so long... but at last, she was going to get to spend _her_ birthday with her sister! Even if it was only for a little while, that was okay. It was Elsa. It was enough. That was all that mattered.

Her joyful expression froze in place with confusion as she watched her mother slip out into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her as quickly as she could.

"Mama?" the princess asked, and now she really did feel like she was five years old again.

"Anna." Her mother spoke with an attempt at false calmness that utterly failed to conceal the heartache and anxiety she was struggling to hide from her daughter. The fact that she barely seemed to have enough air in her lungs to get the word out didn't help either. Taking a deep and shuddering breath, she tried again.

"Anna, dear... We need to talk."


	47. The Growing Distance

Ellinor waved goodbye, then watched as Anna disappeared into the hallway.

She sat alone at the dining room table for several minutes, still gazing at the door through which her daughter had departed. In her head, however, she still saw Anna – only not the same nine-year-old who had just left the room. She remembered...

...holding the newborn princess in her arms just minutes after giving birth, while Agdar sat next to her bed, gazing at his second child and tenderly brushing sweaty locks of hair off his wife's forehead;

...precocious young Elsa's first meeting with her little sister as the infant lay in her crib, and the powerful bond that had formed between them in that instant;

...Anna as a toddler, wobbling awkwardly across the floor to where Elsa stood a short distance away, holding her arms out encouragingly, followed by the happy gabbling of both girls when Anna finally reached her sister and Elsa held her and steadied her and praised her great accomplishment;

...two little girls running pell-mell through the snow-covered gardens, screaming like only young children can as they lobbed snowballs at each other and any other poor soul unfortunate enough to come within throwing distance;

…a distinctly disheveled Anna (holes torn in her leggings to reveal badly scraped knees) arguing with an equally unkempt Elsa (her hair falling out of its usual tidy braid, and one sleeve ripped at the shoulder) as they each tried to take the blame for the accident to keep the other out of trouble;

...the Duke of "Weaseltown," glasses askew, as his two guards helped him regain his feet from where he'd fallen in the courtyard, while Elsa called back her apologies from the speeding bicycle and Anna giggled uncontrollably behind her;

...the younger princess, standing outside her sister's closed door and recounting the tale of her latest daring escape from Nanny's ministrations, putting her whole body into the story even though she knew Elsa could not see her;

...Anna and Marie, sitting next to each other by the low parlor table, both stuffing their mouths full of krumkake while Anna regaled her mother with the details of their latest sword fighting lesson;

...wrapping a cloak around her little girl's shoulders as Anna perched upon the parapet of the tallest tower, gazing out over the fjord and looking woefully lost after the departure of her usual boat-watching companion;

...then watching from the palace doors as Agdar led Anna and Adelen in slow circles around the courtyard, finally seeing a smile return to her daughter's face after a month's painful absence;

...and finally, the entire family reunited again at this very table six short months ago, her two incredible angels somehow managing to quickly fall back into the old familiar rhythms of sisterhood even after everything that had come between them.

Ellinor sighed. Watching your children grow up was simultaneously the most wonderful and the most frightening thing imaginable. You did your best to guide them and support them. You tried to never forget that your every little action would in some way shape the people they would grow into. Nor could you forget that, in the end, you really had absolutely no idea _wh__at_ you were doing and were having to make most of it up on the spot. Sometimes she marveled that the human race had been able to survive so many generations of inexpert parenting.

She took a sip of tea. Then her nose wrinkled in distaste, for the dregs of the drink had gone quite cold. With the chill of winter seeping in through the walls, she definitely needed something warm in her belly this morning. Realizing that Gerda had taken the teapot with her when she'd left, the queen rose from the table and, cradling cup and saucer in her hands, headed for the kitchens.

Unsurprisingly, she found her old friend there as well. She stood at the sink, busily scrubbing out a pan and humming quietly to herself. Looking up as the queen entered, Gerda bent her knees slightly and nodded in a somewhat informal curtsy. "Your Majesty," she said by way of greeting.

Ellinor declined to take the bait this morning. Instead, she simply smiled and nodded back, then made her way over to the stove where several pots were being kept at a simmer. She began to reach for the teapot that Gerda had served them from that morning, but then her nose tingled with a sweet and spicy aroma that drew her hand to a different destination instead. Bringing the vessel closer to her face, she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with the delightful scent of mulled cider. Soon, her cup was full again. She blew across it gently as she walked over and pulled out a stool from the tall kitchen table.

"I'm surprised to see you down here," Gerda said as she continued her work. "I would have thought you'd still be celebrating with Anna."

"So did I," the queen admitted wryly.

"Should I ask what happened?"

Ellinor shrugged. "Anna said she wanted some time alone. I wasn't going to tell her no."

"Ah," the older woman nodded. "They grow up so fast, don't they? One minute, they're clinging to your skirts. The next, they just want a little time to themselves. Pretty soon, they'll be embarrassed to be seen in public with you."

Ellinor froze, staring wide-eyed at her friend. Unfortunately, Gerda's words had come just as the queen had taken the first sip of her hot drink... which now found itself lingering unduly long on the royal tongue. This proved to be most uncomfortable. Swallowing too quickly, then sucking in air to try to cool her offended mouth and throat, Ellinor shot a scornful glare in the direction of the sink.

"And what would you know about that, hmm?"

Gerda chuckled. "Where do you think all those young lads and lasses in my neighborhood went for advice during the years when their parents stopped knowing anything? Even the ones who thought that all adults had become hopeless fools still knew where to go for the best pastries."

The queen couldn't help but smile as she shook her head. "Well then, I guess I'm lucky that my girls will also be able to turn to you when that time comes. I'd like to think I still have a few years yet before that happens, though."

The kitchen mistress set the newly cleaned pan aside and, drying her hands on a towel, came to join her friend at the table. "So, what's this about Elsa feeling under the weather?"

Ellinor looked down into her cup and shrugged again. "Oh, I don't know." She considered her answer carefully for a moment, but in this instance couldn't see anything wrong with simply admitting the truth. "She says she's just been feeling really tense and anxious lately, but for no apparent reason that she can identify. To me, it still sounds like a simple lack of sleep. You remember how Agdar was after those few nights when he learned that he just can't sleep alone anymore; he was a terror to everyone around him. And yet, Elsa insists that she's been sleeping perfectly well.

"I'm just not sure what to make of it. Either she's being less than truthful about how much sleep she's really getting, or there's something else going on that I just don't understand. Neither option is terribly encouraging."

"Hmm." Gerda absentmindedly tapped a finger against her jawbone as she contemplated these words. "I do wish you had confided in me a bit sooner. I'm no physician, but if it's a problem of sleep, there might be something I could do to help. I mean if nothing else, there's always the old standby of a glass of warm milk before bedtime."

The queen looked skeptical. "Does that really work?"

"I've never known it to hurt."

"Well, I'm about ready to try anything. I know Elsa tries to hide it because she doesn't want me to worry, but whatever this is has been going on for too long and it's clearly starting to get to her. If she isn't better when Agdar and I check in on her later, I'll be sending for the physician no matter how much she protests."

"Ah, there you are."

Both women turned and looked toward the door. Gerda stood quickly and gave a more formal curtsy as the king walked in, coming to a stop beside the table. "I looked for you and Anna in the dining room, but obviously you weren't there. I had no idea where you might have gone, but I figured if anyone might know, it would be Gerda." He inclined his head in the woman's direction, then looked around the kitchen, a perplexed expression on his face. "But where's Anna?"

"There's a chance she's down in the stables," Ellinor replied, "but I rather doubt it. She just said she wanted some time alone. I think it was pretty clear how disappointed she was when Elsa didn't come down this morning, and I think she just needed some time to deal with that in her own way."

Agdar nodded thoughtfully. Then his nose twitched and he glanced down appreciatively at his wife's steaming cup. "I don't suppose there's any chance that I might get some of that?" he asked with a hopeful smirk.

"Of course, Your Majesty," Gerda said. She headed off to fetch the pot and another cup while Agdar took a seat beside Ellinor.

After savoring his first sip, he sighed contentedly. "Thank you, Gerda. You know, I've become so spoiled ever since Ellinor convinced me to bring you on staff. We never had anything this good around the palace when I was growing up."

"You're too kind, Your Majesty."

"Please, sit. Join us. I didn't mean to interrupt your chat."

Gerda hesitated. The queen, smiling at her friend's odd stance on propriety, got up, fetched a third cup from the cabinet, filled it with cider and set it down on the table. Only then did Gerda grudgingly reclaim her seat.

Conversation resumed then, but nothing more was discussed of any real consequence. Talk turned to topics like the cold snap that had come upon Arendelle so suddenly, the culinary delights that the royal family could look forward to enjoying at dinner that evening, and a few reminiscences about their favorite childhood comfort foods and the memories they brought back. Agdar, however, was oddly silent on that last subject, despite some good-natured needling on Ellinor's part.

Eventually, when the cups had all been emptied, the king stood. "Thank you for the refreshment, Gerda, and for the delightful conversation. But I think it's time for Ellinor and I to go check in on Elsa."

"Yes indeed," the queen agreed as she also rose to her feet. "Thank you as always, Gerda."

"My pleasure, Your Majesties." The kitchen woman stood to bow the younger couple out of the room.

The two walked unhurriedly through the palace, talking casually about some minor affairs of state that would soon require their attention. When at last they reached their daughter's room, Agdar rapped three times upon the door.

"Elsa? Your mother and I just wanted to check on you and make sure everything's alright." He paused for a moment, waiting for an answer that was not forthcoming. "Elsa, are you okay? You rather frightened your sister this morning when you didn't answer her, and..."

At last, a quiet sound came through the door. Ellinor stepped closer to her husband, wrapping her hands around his arm and looking up at him with deep concern in her eyes.

The sound, though muffled, had most definitely been a sob.

"Sweetheart," the king said kindly but firmly, "we're coming in, okay?" He turned the door handle and pushed. The door did not open.

"Elsa, please unlock the door and let us in."

The sobbing intensified, both louder and longer than the previous sound they had heard.

"Elsa?" her mother ventured tenderly.

"It isn't locked."

It took both adults a moment to parse those three words, partly because they were badly garbled by the continued weeping. Mostly, though, it was the shock that gripped them as the implications settled in. They looked at each other, both remembering the last time that an inexplicably recalcitrant door had separated them from their daughter.

Turning the handle again, the king drove his shoulder into the white wood. With an all too familiar fracturing noise, it finally gave way and popped open a crack. Pushing harder than should have been necessary, feeling the door drag and grate across the wooden floor, Agdar swung it open and stepped inside. Ellinor followed right on his heels.

"Elsa?"

A snuffling sound came from the corner. Stepping further into the room, Agdar pushed the door closed again to find his elder daughter, curled up into a ball at the base of the wall, where she had been hidden behind the open door.

Centered around her quaking body – and spreading in every direction across the walls, door, and floor – thick tendrils of ice radiated outward like the aftermath of a frozen explosion.

"Sweetheart," Agdar began, taking a step closer to the scared little girl. But Elsa only pulled herself into an even tighter knot and shook her head urgently back and forth.

"I can't..." Elsa tried to choke out. "I can't control it. I thought I could but... Even with the gloves, I..." Her fingers twitched spasmodically as they hugged her knees against her chest. New rays of ice shot outwards, thickening the complicated pattern already outlined behind her.

The king reflexively took a step backwards in surprise, watching as the frosty tendrils curled up, down, and around.

"Stay back," the princess sniffled, "It's taking all my... my concentration. And I still can't..." She hiccuped, and another bloom of white coalesced upon the wall.

"I don't... I don't understand," Ellinor stammered. "You've been doing so well. I thought you were even able to go for a while without the gloves at all."

At last, Elsa lifted her head from where it had been hiding behind her legs. "I could. I did. I..." She momentarily looked like she might be sick, and had to swallow thickly before she went on.

"I... I wanted to control my powers. Not just hide them, but... but to prove to you... to everyone... that I could... could make them do exactly what I wanted... and nothing more. I thought that, if I could do that... maybe I wouldn't have to be afraid of them anymore. Maybe I could finally... come out of my room. For real."

She looked down again, and this time stared at her hands hidden within the tight white gloves. "It almost worked. I mean, I practiced... when no one was around... and I got good." The ghost of a smile very nearly appeared on her face, and her shaky voice almost sounded like normal for a moment. "I wish I could have shown you some of the beautiful things I made."

Then the moment passed, and her features took on an expression of guilt and fear. "But I was afraid. I didn't know what you'd think if you found out. So I kept it a secret. I was going to show you. When I was ready. When I had control. When... when I could make you proud of me."

Her voice broke on the last sentence. A shudder ran through her body, and she winced as the ice behind her grew yet again.

Ellinor, a look of deepest pity on her face, took two steps toward her daughter. But Elsa scrambled to her feet, pressing her back against the wall. Her eyes grew wide as she shook her head yet again. "Please, Mama..." she begged.

The queen stopped, looking almost as lost and confused as her daughter, and then slowly retreated. With a light touch on her husband's arm, she drew him a few steps back as well. The extra space seemed to calm Elsa, if only marginally. At least she peeled herself away from the wall.

Agdar, for his part, was still struggling to process all this new information. Perhaps the hardest part to accept was the fact that his own daughter had felt the need to hide this plan of hers from him. Yes, from him. He had no doubt that she would have told her mother, if only she hadn't been afraid of what _his _response might be. He could see it in her eyes, by the way she had barely allowed herself to glance at him as she'd told her tale. She had instead focused almost entirely on her mother, as if hoping to find an ally there who would understand and support her.

Had he so badly damaged his relationship with his firstborn child? He'd tried his best to make amends, but now he faced the very real possibility that everything he'd done had been too little, too late.

Well, he would still continue to try.

"You don't have to do anything to make us proud of you, Elsa," he said reassuringly. "We always have been. We always will be."

Elsa looked at him then – really looked at him for the first time since they had entered the room. He thought he saw something flash deep inside her eyes, but he couldn't tell for sure what it was. A spark of relief? Of hope? She took a hesitant step towards him.

Ice snapped beneath her foot, and the spark instantly went out. In its place came the hollow, wide-eyed look of fear.

She turned her back to them, seeming to retreat both physically and emotionally. Then she spun around.

"I'm scared," she admitted, and her voice held a note of barely contained panic. She looked down at her gloved hands, turning them this way and that as if seeing them for the first time. "It's getting stronger!" She began to back away.

"Getting upset only makes it worse," Agdar soothed. "Calm down." He took a step forward, trying to reclaim the lost ground. Hoping to relieve her anxiety, he reached out to lay a hand gently on her cheek.

"No!" she shouted, and she scrambled backward until she was again pressed up against the wall. "Don't touch me!" Then, as if realizing that she sounded like she was half expecting him to beat her, she added, "Please... I don't want to hurt you."

Ellinor, whose hands had flown up to cover her mouth at her daughter's sudden outburst, now came up beside Agdar. Without taking her eyes off Elsa, she lightly placed a hand on her husband's shoulder. Then, with a gentle pressure, she once more drew him a few steps back.

Again, Elsa pulled away from the wall, but her body remained taut and tense. She kept looking back down at her hands, as if afraid they might suddenly attack if she let them out of her sight.

"I..." she said quietly, almost to herself. "I think it's been getting stronger for months now, but so slowly that I just didn't realize it." Her voice was distant, sounding almost numb. "And I was going to come out today. For Anna's birthday. I'd been planning it for weeks. She's been so supportive and understanding and... and I thought I could surely do this one thing for her. She came by this morning, and she was so excited. So was I. And I was ready. I was going to open the door, and we were going to go down to breakfast together. And then... and then..."

She looked over her shoulder at the lingering evidence of what had happened then. When she spoke again, all the fear and guilt and pain collided in the most heart wrenching lament.

"What if it had happened just ten seconds later? What if it had happened when I was standing there, face to face with Anna, with no door between us? I could have... I could have... I..."

The tears burst forth as Elsa fell to her knees. A second jagged ring of white exploded across the floor and up the wall. Agdar and Ellinor danced backwards, struggling not to slip as the carpet they'd been standing on suddenly became a sheet of ice.

The king caught himself on the corner of Elsa's desk. As he finally regained his balance, his eyes fell upon something that gave him hope, or at least an idea. Snatching at it, he turned it over, twisted the silver key several times, then flipped it upright and lifted the lid.

The tiny, jewel-bright notes tinkled forth from the music box. A melody of springtime filled the frigid room, an odd accompaniment to the snapping percussion of crackling ice. Agdar carefully lowered himself to his knees, placed the box on the floor, then slowly slid it towards his daughter.

It took several agonizing moments, but at last Elsa lowered her hands to reveal her tear-streaked face. She stared at the white lacquer, the blue and purple inlays, and the spinning golden flower. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand towards her birthday present. Her trembling fingers stopped just short of touching it, hovering uncertainly. Then she pulled back, clutching her hands against her chest. She sniffed once, before looking up at her parents.

"I'm too dangerous," she said weakly. "I thought I could control it, but I can't. I don't know how. I can barely even keep it in."

"You can learn, Elsa," her father said in his calmest voice. "All you need is a little time and practice."

With all his heart, he longed to add, "Your mother and I will help you." But how could he? He had no idea what more they could possibly do. They'd already sought the advice of the only person they knew with any magical experience, and where had that gotten them? At that moment, Agdar felt nearly as helpless as his daughter.

More tears were running down the princess's cheeks. "But I did practice!" Her tone of voice begged forgiveness for her failure. She hung her head in shame. "I should have known better. I should have known that I'll never be normal."

"Elsa," Ellinor gasped. Tears were glistening in her own eyes now. "We don't care about normal. We only want you to be happy."

"How can I be happy when everything I touch turns to..."

A lone tear rolled down the length of Elsa's nose. It lingered at the end for a moment, suspended like a diver before the leap. Then it slowly fell. It hit the floor with a tiny click, a single drop of frozen water impacting on the icy surface.

Elsa wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "Tell Anna I'm sorry. I never should have gotten her hopes up. I didn't mean to disappoint her like this."

"Your sister will understand," the king said. "We told her that you haven't been feeling well. All you have to do is explain..."

But the frightened girl shook her head. "No. No, I don't want to keep hurting her like this. Anna needs to... she needs to forget about me. She needs to move on..."

The words stuck in Elsa's throat. She squeezed her eyes shut as she choked on another sob.

"Anna will never do that," Ellinor said quietly.

Elsa lifted her head just enough to peer up at her mother. Her mouth opened, but the words would not come. Ellinor could read her daughter's thoughts in her eyes, though.

Please, help me...

_Knock knock-knock-knock knock._

"Do you want to build a snowman?"

Elsa's eyes, which had been half-closed in despair, suddenly grew wide and round. She looked between her mother and father, an expression of unadulterated panic upon her face.

"Or... ride our bike around the halls?"

Anna's longing was as obvious as her sister's dismay. Elsa looked into her mother's face. Then, as her chin trembled, she slowly shook her head. The meaning was clear: I can't. Please don't make me.

Ellinor stared uncertainly back at her daughter. Finally, she nodded. Wiping the tears out of her eyes, she began to move to the door. Elsa clumsily got to her feet, then backed once more into the corner.

"I think some company is overdue," Anna's voice called out.

The queen, grasping the door handle, gave one final look at her elder daughter. The pleading anguish she saw there almost made her knees give way. She took a deep breath to steel herself.

"I've started talking to the pictures on the..."

Queen Ellinor opened the door just wide enough to slip out into the hallway, pulling it swiftly shut behind her.

"Mama?"

"Anna..."

Father and daughter stared across the room at each other, listening to the quiet conversation filtering in from the hall outside. Neither moved. Neither spoke. The music box had long since wound down.

"Anna, dear... We need to talk."

"Is it... Is it Elsa? Is she alright, Mama?" The fear and worry was plain in the younger girl's voice. "Is she sick? Is she hurt? Is she...?"

"Elsa is..." The queen broke off, clearly struggling with how to finish the sentence. "I'm afraid she won't be able to join you for your birthday today, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I know how much you wanted..."

"But is she okay?" Anna asked, unwilling to be put off so easily. "Why didn't she answer me this morning? Elsa? Elsa, I hope you're okay! Don't worry about missing my birthday. It's fine, really. I don't mind. Just... just get better soon, alright?"

"Anna." Ellinor's voice was thick with barely contained emotion. "I think it might be best if we... left your sister alone for a while. She needs some time to... to..."

"I understand, Mama," Anna assured her. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered her while she was resting. It can wait until she's feeling better. I was just so excited, and I wanted to tell her about everything that had happened today, and..."

The sound of Anna's voice, nearly tripping over itself as it usually did when she was nervous or agitated, faded away as her mother led her off down the passage, around the corner, and away from her sister's room.

Elsa slid slowly down the wall, curling once again into a tight ball on the floor and burying her face behind her knees.

Agdar stood, retrieving the music box from where it still rested on the floor. Then he walked over to the door, slowly and cautiously so as not to startle his daughter. There, he too lowered himself to the floor, sitting just outside the boundary that Elsa seemed to now need again. Silently, he began to carefully turn the silver key on the bottom of the box.

"I'm sorry, Papa," came the muffled voice from the corner.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," he replied. Then he gently set the white wooden box on the floor between them. When he lifted the lid, the familiar tune began to play once more.

He sat there for hours, as close to his daughter as she would let him come. His only job that day, as far as he was concerned, was to be there for her. And to keep the music playing.


	48. Questions Unanswered

"Elsa, please say something."

Anna's quietly pleading voice tore at her sister, who sat curled up in the narrow space between the fireplace and the wall. Only the stack of firewood piled up in the corner kept her from retreating even further. And even though the flames burned brightly within the fireplace, a fractal pattern of newly formed ice still glistened wetly on the floor beneath the princess.

"It doesn't have to be much. Just... just let me know that you can hear me, okay?"

A fortnight had passed since Anna's birthday. Elsa didn't know what exactly her parents had told Anna, but at first, the younger girl had been willing to accept her sister's silence. For a few days, she'd limited her visits to just quick stops in the evenings. She seemed to still be convinced that whatever was wrong was only a temporary ailment. So, not wishing to unduly disturb her sister's rest, she would simply say that she hoped Elsa felt better soon. And that she was always thinking about her. And that she loved her.

Listening to that had been painful enough. Soon, however, Anna had begun to return to her old routine of sitting in the hallway and recounting the highlights of her day. She apparently seemed to think that this familiar pattern would help comfort her sister. Even then, though, she had still been willing to do all the talking, content to just know that Elsa was listening.

Eventually, however, the unspoken pretext of Elsa's illness had seemingly begun to lose some of its credibility. An anxious discomfort had begun to creep into Anna's words and voice. Her laughter became nervous, as if she was afraid it might somehow cause offense. She would sometimes stop in mid-sentence, and then find herself unsure of how to continue again.

It had all come to a head tonight.

Part of Elsa wanted to shout at her sister to go away and leave her alone. It would be for her own good, after all. But Anna was no longer the same little girl she'd been the last time those words had slipped out by accident. Elsa was convinced that if Anna were to hear her voice again now, regardless of what words might be spoken, she would only redouble her efforts to reach out and reestablish the connection they had briefly reforged this last year.

Besides, even though Elsa wanted to protect Anna by withdrawing as far as she could from her, she simply did not possess the strength to actually push her away. No matter how much it hurt to hear the pain in Anna's voice, she still knew deep down in her soul that not hearing it at all would be an even greater torment. The thought of that suffering was so horrific that she simply could not call it down upon herself. She was well aware that, as a result, she was putting Anna in a brutally unfair and even cruel situation. And she hated herself all the more for it.

"Elsa, please," Anna begged. "I don't know what's going on, but there has to be something I can do to help. I can at least listen. Or I can keep talking, if that's what you want. Or I could... I mean, maybe I...

"Oh, Elsa, I just don't know what you want me to do. Just tell me, and I'll do it."

The pause that followed seemed somehow ominous to Elsa's ears. At last, Anna spoke again, and if her voice had been quiet before, now it was barely above a whisper.

"I'll even go away, if you want me to."

Elsa could not have held in the sobs that slammed into her then if her life... if her sister's life... had depended on it. It felt like she had been punched in the ribs from inside her chest. The air was driven out of her lungs in one explosive convulsion, and she nearly choked as she struggled to draw breath back in again. The effort left her gasping and shaking as the tears covered her face.

The circle of ice beneath her, which had almost completely melted in the heat of the fire, blossomed again thicker and heavier than before. It climbed up the wall beside her, up the pile of logs behind her, and up and over the raised hearth of the fireplace. When it met the flames, steam joined the rising tendrils of smoke with a snakelike hiss.

For a moment, fire and ice seemed to be evenly matched. Then, as another miserable sob shook Elsa's body, the blaze began to give way. The crackling of the fire was slowly replaced by the snapping of ice. Coarse white crystals, advancing slowly but inexorably, smothered the glowing embers. The light dimmed and the warmth faded. Soon, the last tongue of flame sputtered, flickered, and died.

When the freezing circle finally stopped growing, the only sound left in the room was the weeping of a wretched young princess.

"Elsa?" A subtle change had come into Anna's voice. There was a tinge of hope, a faint trace of excitement. She must have heard... something, and it had apparently been enough to make her think that maybe she was finally getting through. In the pause that followed, it was almost as if Elsa could hear her sister straining to listen.

"Elsa, are you...?" Then a gasp came from the direction of the door. "Oh, Elsa! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you... I'm so sorry. I should go." From the hallway came the sounds of Anna quickly scrambling to her feet.

Elsa listened for the retreating footfalls.

They did not come.

"Or are you crying because I said I'd go away?" Anna's tone clearly conveyed both her hurt and her confusion. "Oh, Elsa. I just don't know!" Then there were no more words. There was just the dull thud of something hitting the door followed by a quiet, half-smothered whimper.

_I don't know either, Anna,_ Elsa thought despairingly. _I don't think I know anything anymore._

• • •

Elsa huddled in the dark, trying to remain as small and silent and invisible as she could possibly be. It was quiet now, though she couldn't make up her mind whether or not that was an improvement. But at least here, alone, she couldn't hurt anyone. And here, there was no one to make her feel guilty about who she was and what she had done. No one, that is, except herself.

"Hello, Elsa."

She didn't bother to look up at the sound of her own voice. Instead, she simply indulged in the small comfort of saying the words she had not been able to say to her sister. "Go away, Fare."

"That would be difficult," her dark double replied, "considering I only exist inside of you. Where else can I go?"

"I don't care," Elsa replied in a leaden tone, devoid of anything resembling interest. "Wherever you've been since the last time I had to deal with you."

"Oh, I've been right here the entire time," Fare stated matter-of-factly. "I've been watching, you know. All your work with the ice, your struggles with the snow, and then your unexpected breakthrough. You really were quite amazing, Elsa. I was so proud of you.

"And then you stopped again."

"That was months ago," Elsa pointed out. She didn't know why she continued to engage in conversation with this annoying figment. After all, it only encouraged her.

"True," Fare agreed, "but you promised yourself then that it would only be temporary, until you were feeling better. And you really had made such wonderful progress, so it seemed like you had earned a little respite.

"But now, here we are, hiding in the dark again."

At last, Elsa lifted her head and looked around. Dark didn't do justice to this absolute blackness. In fact, the only two things that she could see at all were herself and her black-haired double, who stood a few paces away and watched her with detached interest.

She wasn't that surprised to find that Fare appeared to be standing (and, in point of fact, leaning) upon absolutely nothing. It was an ability she had demonstrated during their previous encounter. It was also a skill that Elsa was fairly confident she herself did not possess.

She looked down then to find that, indeed, she was not floating so casually upon the ether. Instead, she was sitting on a single oversized snow crystal. It was very simple, lacking any embellishment, and not very much larger than it needed to be to support her. It also seemed to be the source of the soft white glow by which she was able to see. Somehow though, the light fully illuminated her, even though it only came from beneath her. It seemed to pass right through her body without casting any shadows.

Then she reminded herself that the rules of common sense and logic had no foothold here.

Elsa turned back to look desolately at Fare. She simply was not capable of playing these games tonight. All she wanted was quiet solitude. Couldn't she even get a moment's peace inside her own mind?

There was little point in asking to be left alone, even less in trying to turn away. She had as little control here as she had in the waking world. All she could do in either situation was cower in a corner. So let Fare do whatever she wanted. Perhaps the capricious girl would eventually get bored of carrying on a one-side conversation.

Elsa silently lowered her head, closing her eyelids and trying to pretend that the blackness behind them was the true unreality of her dream.

She stiffened and involuntarily gasped when she suddenly felt a body pressing against her side, an arm across her back, a hand upon her shoulder. A torrent of conflicting emotions crashed down upon her. She had once again become so scared of physical contact that, even within this dream, it was nearly impossible to fight the instinct to pull away. At the same time, the comfort of simply being held was undeniable, all the more so because she was forced to deprive herself of it in real life.

At this moment, however, she found the prospect of being comforted by Fare distinctly disturbing.

"Poor girl." Fare spoke gently, kindly, consolingly... and yet Elsa felt a shiver run down her spine. Still keeping her eyes tightly shut, she turned her head to the side, away from the source of that eerily familiar voice. It was almost more than she could bear when she felt a hand begin to stroke her hair.

"You're still scared," Fare continued sympathetically. "That's not surprising. You know how easy it is to be frightened of things you don't understand. If you don't understand, then you don't know what to expect. And when the unexpected happens, and you aren't prepared for it, it can be quite a shock. Terrifying even. It's one of the oldest fears, haunting humanity down untold centuries. It's the reason you jump when something suddenly appears out of the darkness."

_Something like you,_ Elsa thought, but this time she held her tongue.

"Still, you understand your powers now so much better than you did before. Just look at everything you were able to accomplish, and all on your own! You have the gifts of an artist, Elsa. Do you remember that path of snowflakes the last time you were here – the ones you found to be so beautiful? You do realize that you created each and every one of those, don't you? This is a worldentirely of your own creation. Nothing exists here that doesn't come from your own mind."

"I didn't make you," Elsa shot back. There was a sharpness in her tone that hadn't been there mere moments before. The hand that had been brushing her hair twitched, then stopped.

"Why would you say that?" Fare replied, in that careful tone of nonchalance that people always seem to think will convince others that they really don't care about something. Instead, of course, it just makes it all too clear exactly how much that something must really matter.

"You want me to continue using my magic, don't you?"

The other girl remained silent.

"That's why you're here, isn't it? It's why you didn't show up for all these past months. Even though I wasn't practicing, I really did mean to continue eventually. I take it that was enough for you?"

Elsa felt Fare's hand leave her hair completely now. She turned her head to face her mysterious twin.

"You think that by comforting me when I'm feeling so miserable, I'll somehow start to see you as my friend, and then I'll listen to your advice again."

"I am your friend, Elsa."

The princess didn't even bother to shake her head. "And what advice would you give? You want me to continue trying to use abilities that... that I can barely even contain?"

"I only want..."

"You act like you understand me. You pretend that you _are _me, or at least a part of me. But you don't know me at all."

"Of course I do. I..."

"The only reason," Elsa said, her voice growing louder as she cut right across whatever Fare had been about to say, "that I ever listened to you was because of Anna. I wanted to master my powers so that I could leave my room and be there for her. I wanted to be her big sister again, to be her friend again, the way it used to be. The way it's supposed to be."

"And I want to help you do that," Fare interjected quickly. "You know, you always blame your magic for keeping you and your sister apart. And yet when you were both younger, before you became so fearful of what you could do, wasn't that when you were closest? Then all this past year, while you were learning your powers, the two of you were growing closer yet again. It seems to me that you've only been truly cut off from Anna when you also cut yourself off from your abilities."

Elsa was already shaking her head, and yet she failed to keep the creeping uncertainty from showing on her face. That couldn't be right, could it? Fare was just twisting things around, trying to confuse her. Unfortunately, it was working, because she seemed to have a point.

"No," she said at last. "Just because things happen at the same time, it doesn't mean that one causes the other. It was still my magic that hurt Anna."

"It was an accident," Fare tried to reassure her.

"When I lost my balance on the ice, that was an accident," Elsa replied. "But when my powers slipped out of my control and hit Anna... I shouldn't have let that happen. That was my fault, and my sister could have died because of it." Her voice broke at the thought of the grim fate that had so narrowly been avoided.

"If I let myself get close to her again now, when I can barely rein in my powers at all... How can I be there for Anna when I can't even be near her, or anybody else, without freezing them? How can I not blame my magic? It's gotten stronger. Too strong! I can't control it any more!"

Fare did something then that caught Elsa completely by surprise. She laughed.

"Well, naturally it got stronger! What did you expect? You were training with it nearly every day for months. When you keep working the same muscle over and over again, of course it becomes stronger. I mean, isn't that the point of exercise?"

Elsa stared wide-eyed at that smirking face. It took her a very long time before she was able to put her fear into words. "You mean... this was all my fault?"

Fare shrugged. "Not entirely. You expect your body to keep getting bigger and stronger as you get older. That's why they call it, 'growing up.' So why should your magic be any different? Isn't that what the old troll told you? 'Your power will only grow.'"

"But the more I use it..."

"...the faster it grows, yes."

Elsa felt the impact of these words like a smothering pressure descending upon her. By trying to master her powers, had _she _actually been responsible for pushing them beyond her own ability to control? In her attempt to find a way to reunite with her sister, had she only succeeded in pushing herself further away than ever before?

A massive weight of panic and guilt threatened to crush her once again. Her stomach felt as if a ball of molten lead had suddenly fallen into it from a considerable height, and now it roiled and thrashed about inside her. It wasn't fair. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried to do the right thing, somehow she only ever made things worse. Wasn't that how everything had started? She'd only been trying to save Anna from a dangerous fall. But no matter what her intentions, they always found a way to warp and distort until they inevitably betrayed her – or worse, those she loved.

She struggled to keep her thoughts clear, despite the dull buzz that now fought to take their place. There had to be some way out of this self-inflicted disaster, if only she could find it. "Then... then doesn't that mean if I stop using the magic, it will grow weaker again? That's what happens if you stop exercising a muscle, right?"

"Analogies can be so messy," Fare sighed. She paused to think before she finally answered. "Do you remember how it felt that night when you couldn't stop the flow of your power?"

Elsa nodded, even though the memory of that experience only made her fear grow all the sharper. "It felt like... like it was looking for a way to escape."

"Exactly. In some ways, magic has a will all its own. Controlling it is almost like taming a wild animal, after a fashion. But even if you suddenly stop training it, that doesn't mean it forgets what it has learned." The coldly dispassionate fashion in which Fare gave her answer only made it all the more terrible when Elsa finally drew the inescapable conclusion.

"And now it knows the way out."

That leaden mass suddenly grew bigger and far heavier. Once again, she was finding it nearly impossible to breathe. But this was just a dream, wasn't it? You don't actually breathe in dreams, so how could she be finding it hard to do? Yet even as her mind was asking the question, her lungs still ached from the lack of oxygen. She gulped for air that seemed to have suddenly disappeared.

Even in the midst of her distress, however, part of her mind still struggled to make sense of everything. It was the part of the brain that normally disengages during dreams, which allows the disconnected randomness to somehow seem perfectly reasonable to the dreamer. Of course, these visits with Fare were not ordinary dreams.

That part of her consciousness – the methodical, analytical portion that she had put to such good use while working out the mechanics of her magic – clamored for her attention. There was something that she was missing, something important that she still needed to piece together. It was critical. It was vital. It was...

It was literally staring her right in the face.

"How do you know so much about my powers?" she finally managed to ask in between gasps.

"Well, of course I know about them," Fare replied with a frown. "They're not exactly the sort of thing you can keep hidden from yourself."

"How do you know so much about how my powers work?" Elsa clarified. Her voice, though still laced with fear, came out just the tiniest bit stronger. "How do you know that they have a will of their own?"

"You yourself said that you felt it that night, didn't you?" Fare countered.

"How do you know what makes them stronger?"

"Well, it just makes sense, doesn't it? Why wouldn't practice make them stronger?"

The princess shook her head again. "No, you weren't just guessing or drawing conclusions. You knew."

"Then I guess you must have known too but just didn't want to admit it to yourself."

Without even realizing it, Elsa had somehow gotten her breathing back under control. "You only show up when I'm struggling with my magic. Your dreams never feel like any other dreams I ever have. They just try to pretend that they are. There are the surreal surroundings and all manner of strange things that seem to defy both common sense and physics. But there are limits, because... because you can't do what you need to if nothing actually makes sense. We could never carry on a conversation like this in a real dream, could we?"

Her doppelganger simply looked at her. Elsa had apparently found one question for which no answer would be forthcoming. She suspected that she had another.

"What are you?" Elsa asked quietly. There was still fear in her voice and upon her face, but it was directed as much outward as inward now. Then again, in this place, outward was still inside her own head. And so was this suddenly sinister phantasm.

Fare removed her arm from around Elsa's shoulders and stood, stepping once again into and onto the black void that surrounded them.

"So that's it then?" she asked. "You've made up your mind? No more practice. No more magic. No more of those beautiful crystalline creations that you'd become so proud of, you even bragged about them to your mother in the middle of your breakdown."

Elsa stared back, not saying a word.

"You're simply going to throw all of that away, even though you still have no idea what you're capable of. You don't realize the miraculous things you could do if you would only let yourself try. You have so much untapped potential, Elsa – far more than you can even imagine. I could help you. I've done it before. I was the one who guided you to your ice, remember?"

"And if I told you that the only help I want is in locking this curse away forever, would you still be so eager to assist, Fare?"

"Curse?" Fare glared at her. One corner of her mouth was again higher than the other, but now in a scowl rather than a smirk. "You're going to abandon this incredible gift you've been given, and for what? For a dream that one day, you might be able to play with your little sister again? That's the entire scope of your life's ambition? You're destined to become queen someday, Elsa! You need to be able to see farther than that, to look beyond such mundane concerns. You need to embrace greatness!"

"You're right," Elsa said, and for a moment, Fare's smirk returned. "Destiny will one day place me upon the throne. I still don't see how I can take on that responsibility given my... condition. However, I have little choice in the matter.

"What I can choose, however, is the kind of queen that I will be. And though I'm not at all sure that I can be a good one, I will not be the sort who puts her own personal glory above the welfare of her people. Today, that means thinking of my sister and my family first. I refuse to put them at risk again, and nothing you say will convince me otherwise."

The two girls looked at one another. Disappointment and no small amount of disgust was visible upon both faces. After a long and tense silence, Fare spoke again.

"There will come a time," she intoned coolly, "when you'll realize that I'm right. There will come a day when you'll finally embrace everything you were always meant to be. Then, you will only wonder why you fought it for so long.

"Until then, enjoy trying to pretend that you're something other than what you really are. I hope you're able to find comfort in your cozy little fantasy of normality. And even if you're unable to move forward... well, at least you'll have the memories."

Elsa opened her mouth to reply, but Fare was gone. She craned around both to her left and right, searching, but there was no sign of her raven-haired twin. It seemed like she was alone in the darkness once again.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

The words made Elsa nearly jump out of her skin. They seemed to have come from directly behind her. Carefully, she managed to curl her legs beneath her. Then, still on her knees, she turned around upon her little white platform.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Anna lay on her side in the middle of the nothingness, her back to Elsa. But she wasn't moving. She didn't even appear to be breathing. She was deathly still.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Elsa scrambled to her feet. It was just like it had been on that horrible night so long ago, except that now she was separated from her sister by a gaping black chasm that she didn't know how to cross. But she knew it wasn't real. It couldn't be. This was all still a dream.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Then she realized that one other thing was different from that night. The Anna who lay motionless on the ground was not five years old. This was her Anna, the one who had just celebrated her ninth birthday two weeks ago.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Suddenly the pain and the fear and the guilt assailed her without mercy. This wasn't a dream. It wasn't even a memory. It was her worst nightmare. This was what would have happened if she had lost control a few seconds later, after she had opened her bedroom door.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

She couldn't just stand there. She had to do something. There wasn't much room on her little snowflake, but she moved as far back as she could. She could manage a single step, maybe two. Then she would jump as hard and far as she could.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

In the real world, there was no way she would be able to cover that distance. Here, however, who knew what rules might apply. Elsa took a deep breath and then began her all-too-short run.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

The instant her foot landed, the crystal shattered. Tumbling in slow-motion, she plummeted downwards, attempting to twist about in midair to at least keep Anna in sight.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

Elsa watched her sister recede into the blackness above her. She sank ever deeper, still surrounded by tiny particles of ice. The shards were miniscule, looking like nothing so much as individual snowflakes of their own.

_Do you want to build a snowman?_

She realized then that the voice she kept hearing was no longer Anna's. She was unsure now whether it ever had been. But there was no mistaking it. It was the same cold and shrill voice she'd heard in her head on the day of the first big snowfall after her isolation had begun. She hadn't made the connection then, it had been so distorted. Now, however, it became all too clear.

It was her own voice. Or maybe it was Fare's. Either way, it hardly mattered. It continued to taunt her over and over again, coming at her first from one direction, then another. The merciless refrain followed her and the cloud of icy fragments on their never-ending descent...

Echoing through the falling snow.

* * *

THE END

of

Book One

–––

The story continues in

Book Two

MEMORIES OF FALLING SNOW

* * *

**A/N: I've said before that I never set out to write a novel. I certainly didn't intend to write more than one! Recently though, as I realized exactly how many words I've already written, it became clear that the story had simply grown too large for a single title. 185,000 words is a daunting sight, both for reader and writer.**

**Fortunately, I knew I was coming up on an ideal point in the tale to make something of a clean break. After the second verse of _Do You Want to Build a Snowman_, a number of plot threads have come to a close. Moreover, there seems to be a common theme surrounding many of the threads that I want to explore next. This also provides a good jumping on point for new readers. If you've already seen the movie, then you pretty much know where the characters stand at this point.**

**Structurally and thematically, this break just made too much sense to pass up. I hope that most of you will continue to follow me on this journey into the past, but this also gives readers a chance to bow out gracefully if the tale has simply become too long to hold their interest. Either way, I still have plenty of ideas bouncing around inside my head. So, barring burnout, there remains much more to tell about the young lives of Elsa and Anna. Won't you join me?**


End file.
